


After the Rage

by godsandstars



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Asgard, F/M, Jane feels, Jotunn | Frost Giant, Loki Does What He Wants, Loki Feels, Loki Needs a Hug, Loki'd, Manipulative Loki, Miðgarðr | Midgard, Thor Feels, Álfheimr | Alfheim
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-01-08 03:11:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 84,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1127662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/godsandstars/pseuds/godsandstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two months after the events of TDW, Loki sits the throne of Asgard under the guise of Odin and finds himself bored, lonely, and most of all, desperate to keep his stature. He finds himself doing the unimaginable: bringing Thor and Jane to Asgard. Lokane.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

Disclaimer that applies to the entirety of story: I do not claim ownership of Marvel, Walt Disney, or any subsidiaries of such.

()()()

“It is a man's own mind, not his enemy or foe, that lures him to evil ways.” - Buddha

()()()

_**Chapter One** _

()()()

The sky was an open expanse of gold and purple and black and green: Loki allowed himself to watch it, momentarily, before casting his gaze downward. In such a late hour, Asgard was quiet and peaceful and _glowing_ , but it did nothing to wane his temperament. He leaned forward over the railing on the balcony and looked down, almost reveling in the sobering case of vertigo that washed over him. Even he would feel the cold snap of death if he were to fall from such a height.

Loki supposed that he was bored, if anything. Under the guise of Odin, life on the throne was…easy. Perhaps _too_ easy. He let go of the railing and looked down at his hands - not his own - and let out a dignified sort of sound, something like a sigh. It was tiresome, he admitted, yet each day he reminded himself that this was what he _wanted_. What he had risked, quite literally, _everything_ for. He closed his eyes and remembered Thor’s retreating back, believing himself to be set free of his place on the throne, and let out a dry laugh.

_One son who wanted the throne too much; one who refuses to take it._

His words were true, he mused, regardless of whom Thor had perceived to say them. Loki had almost felt a sense of disappointment at how easily Thor had been deceived. Sometimes, on nights such as this, Loki wondered if Thor too looked to the sky and thought of him (not as Odin, of course, but as Loki) his not-brother, or perhaps-brother. He wondered if Thor mourned him, in his own way - and he remembered starkly the single tear that had fallen from Thor’s eye when Loki had told him his father was dead. He had believed Loki then, and without a doubt he believed him now: dead, gone, and perhaps even as a bit of a martyr.

Loki snorted at the thought, and a strong wave of pity washed over him despite himself. He pitied Thor, he supposed, in his stupidity and loyalty; always his hugest downfall - his tragic flaws. Loki thought too of Thor’s anger, then, and his desperation to prove justice. That was what always kept Loki from slipping out of his projection of Odin, in the end. Although his magic had allowed him to hide the truth from Heimdall, it was not something he wished to test for long.

Certainly, he had allowed himself to do it momentarily after Thor was out of sight. Loki knew his vanity was a master of its own; he was not blind to his own faults, most of the time. Although he felt fairly confident that he could show his true self in the privacy of his rooms without raising alarm, he still refused to do it, for reasons not even he could fully visualize.

It was not particularly chilly outside, but Loki felt a wave of cold in spite of that. He looked to the stars again, feeling the familiar twinge of longing as he did. He thought of that stretch of time in which he had lingered there, floating between reality and dreams, after he had fallen from the Bridge. He thought of the truth he had seen - _Well, not all of it was truth_ , he corrected himself, _But all things hold truth in their own way_. It wasn’t quite truth what he had seen, but more like the possibility of it. Things that could be, or had been, or might never be. Thor had never asked him about that time. He had never even bothered to ask what had truly happened between then and Loki’s attempt to enslave Midgard. He had danced between feeling dangerously angry and desperately empty at that; that Thor had begged and whined and _pleaded_ , but never once had the decency to ask what it was that caused such a shift in him. Loki had always been one for mischief, it was true, but he had never encompassed the deprivation for destruction and complete carnage.

Loki knew he shouldn’t hold it against Thor; not really, anyway. It was not his fault he had not been blessed with the same gifts as Loki; it was not Thor’s fault that he saw true power in strength and integrity and not eloquence and sorcery. Loki closed his eyes to the stars and found a strange sense of peace in the blackness behind his lids - _No, Odin’s_ , he reminded himself precipitously - and remembered that there was a time when Thor was not so unlike Loki, at least near the beginning. A time when Thor had enjoyed Loki’s tricks almost as much as he. A time when Thor couldn’t truly explain what justice was, even if it had written itself across the stars and he was looking straight at it.

Loki opened his eyes, and looked upon Asgard once more. When he had let the Jötunn in on the day of Thor’s coronation, he knew they wouldn’t get far. He knew they would do no real harm; his intention was to only upset the joyous day. It was only a bit of fun, although looking back, Loki knew it was more than that. He had known those Jötunn would die that day, and yet he did not feel any remorse when he saw their frozen bodies lying dead in the vault. Granted, at the time the Jötunn were simply monsters to him - cold and deadly, without reason or emotion.

_“When I am king, I’ll hunt the monsters down and slay them all!”_

Thor’s words as a child often found their way into Loki’s brain. He was not sure why he remembered the moment so clearly. He always knew that Thor was oldest and by birthright would always have claim to the throne before Loki. He always knew that Thor was a warrior at heart. And yet…

He ran his hand along the stone surface of the railing on the balcony, trying to distract him from his own thoughts threatening to make him very angry indeed. Loki knew that anger was not an emotion to be trusted; he thought bitterly on his most recent time on Midgard, when he had easily, no, _gladly_ , let it fuel so many of his actions. _But that’s not true_ , Loki told himself, _For it was more than anger that placed the Scepter in your hands_.

The Scepter had been a weapon, a means to an end, and had taken so much of Loki’s soul he couldn’t help but wonder if it had done permanent damage. He felt stupid, even then, standing on the highest balcony Asgard had to offer, taking in its golden beauty and constance. He should have known that while the Scepter had given him almost-ultimate power, even the ability to bend one to his will, that it didn’t come without a price.

Yet still, he could not feel true remorse on what he had done. Even now when he knew his true heritage, he could not find it in himself to feel very sorry for the Jötunn that he had killed, actively or not. He didn’t even bat an eye at the number of Midgardians he had slaughtered in his attempt to conquest. He knew he had done wrong, he supposed. He thought of his mother then, not his _true_ mother, but to him, she was his mother all the same. He thought of her golden hair and commanding grace; he thought of her tricks and mischief that he knew he had gotten from her. His darkness, he guessed, came from his real parents, but thinking of them that way left a gritty feeling in his mouth.

 _Yes_ , Loki thought, once again feeling that strange chill that had nothing to do with the weather, _And how very poetic it is that your own brother turned out to be he worst monster of them all._

Frigga. It was Loki’s fault, in the end, that she was dead. It was always his fault. He knew now that she was trying to protect Thor’s mortal lover, Jane Foster, who had held the Aether inside of her veins, and yet it was Loki who told the Cursed where to go to begin with. He remembered the dark, crippling feeling he had felt in his heart when the Cursed looked upon him. He might have even guessed what it was, if he had taken the time to really think about it. But out of laziness or ennui - he wasn’t sure which - he didn’t even care to figure out what in the Nine Realms could yield such strength. And that was just _it_ , really: that he didn’t _care_ anymore. He remembered his fear, standing there behind his cell, knowing perfectly well that the Cursed could let him out, and he had almost longed for the freedom. Of course he _longed_ for the freedom. But when it didn’t, and turned away, Loki had told him where to go, and he knew not where the words had surfaced from.

Perhaps he believed that it would change its mind and free him. Perhaps he felt comfort in knowing it would wreak havoc on the man that had taken him in and lied to him for over a millennium. Perhaps he would have felt better, rotting in a cell underneath a crippled kingdom. At least he would have had nobody to bother him.

 _But no_ , Loki thought, _That’s not right_. He would have never imagined an Asgard without Frigga: his mother, his teacher and the only person who bothered to visit him in his cell, projection or not. She may not have been something he could touch and feel, but her words were still hers, and he knew of projections in such an intimate way that there was no denying that it was so much _more_ than just an illusion. She truly pitied her youngest son; she had brought him books and fineries to save him from his ennui. She knew he was dangerous when he was bored, and even the ultimate trickster was unable to magic himself out of his prison; he wondered if he would have eventually torn the flesh from his own face, inch by inch, in efforts to escape the sheer boredom of confinement.

Loki sighed and returned to his quarters - the palace was as still and silent as an unmoving lake. There were guards here and there, who stiffened at his presence. Loki knew they thought him as Odin, but sometimes, especially late at night, he would imagine that they were yielding to _him_ as himself. He knew it was foolish, that his own pride would someday probably be the end of him, and yet he didn’t stop allowing himself these small slices of fantasy. He wasn’t a child; he knew it wasn’t true, nor in most likeliness would ever be. He thought of the Midgardian saying, “A man can dream.” And as he magicked himself into his sleeping garments, he lay in bed and thought to do just that.

But sleep didn’t come immediately, and Loki thought himself slightly naïve to think that it would. He was wearied from his façade; he was tired and irritable and yet, he told himself again, that this was what he sought so desperately for so long. He was King; he was on the throne of Asgard. He was ensuring the peace of all realms and he was doing a damn good job of it. And still, the world yet turned; no fire fell from the sky, and the universe remained as constant as it ever was. Loki let himself smile bitterly at that thought for a moment, as he rolled over and tried to get comfortable. He didn’t think he would ever get used to encompassing Odin’s body; he missed his own thin frame and flexibility. _No matter_ , he thought, _And really, a small price to pay for the prize I have won_.

He let himself think of Thor again, but it did nothing to improve his mood. He wondered what Thor would do if he knew what had become of his father and that Loki had taken his place, literally. He thought of Odin then, too. Not something Loki usually did, but he couldn’t stop it once it started: he had used all the magic he knew to conceal Odin in a prison cell in the farthest depths of the dungeons, a place no one ventured. It was important he stay alive for this charade to continue working. It may be possible to fool Heimdall, but surely even the quiet death of Odin would not go unnoticed.

Loki couldn’t feel guilty for what he had done. When he had disguised himself as a guard to tell Odin that he had found Loki’s body, dead, Odin’s face had changed in a way that was almost not noticeable. But Loki noticed it - he noticed _everything_. It was the smallest expression of grief, and he had felt pained that it was only that. He had expected some great display of sorrow and perhaps even a tear or two from Odin’s good eye, and in the end, Loki was met with only disappointment.

No, it wasn’t hard to lock Odin in a cell. In fact, after Loki had sewn his mouth shut with Odin’s own thread, there was a funny sort of irony about it. Odin had _always_ underestimated him, and this time it would be the last thing he had ever done.

()()()

“Good evening, my King,” Heimdall said, his ever unchanging face unreadable and resolute. Loki faltered for a moment; he did not much like having to face Heimdall but even he was unable to look upon the realms without him. Certainly he could travel without the Bifrost, but that was tricky and not at all a wise move.

Loki said nothing at first, and he simply walked up to Heimdall’s post. He kept his expression neutral and merely inclined his head. He gripped Gungnir tightly in his hand, enjoying the feel of the cool metal on his fingers, even if they weren’t truly his.

“What disturbs your slumber all these nights?”

Heimdall’s question brought forth the reality of his reasoning for Loki’s permanent disguise. For truth, the man saw nearly _everything_ , if so he desired. He saw the turnings and goings of the universe, and that was simple fact. He could watch the lives of so many as easily as Loki could slip in and out of so many faces - the thought was sobering and hard to accept. It was really a wonder that Heimdall did not know the most important secret of them all, the one that was happening right then and there, on the same realm that he swore to protect. Loki would have found it amusing, if it weren’t so frightening.

“Let not my personal troubles trouble you, dear Heimdall,” Loki said finally. “I will be fine, in time.”

Heimdall said nothing at first, but Loki saw him relax, ever so slightly.

“Of course, Allfather. I presume you have come to me for a glimpse of Thor?”

“Yes. How fares he? How does he adjust to life on Midgard?”

Heimdall closed his eyes, and then opened them. Loki looked closely; he thought that if he looked closely enough, he could almost see Thor’s face reflected there. Of course, that was his imagination running away with him.

“I can project an image, if you would desire,” Heimdall said quietly. Loki held his breath. He had, of course, heard rumors of this ability in the past, but having never seen it first-hand, Heimdall’s offer came as a surprise.

“I would like that.”

And so he did: Loki watched as Heimdall shot the image into reality, without even raising a finger. Loki’s eyes snapped on the image. It was clear enough; it reminded him starkly as a child playing in one of the many clear lakes on the forests of Asgard, looking down and watching the fish and plant-life with such clarity, yet still being acutely aware of the separation between himself and the image below the surface. He saw Thor, dressed in casual Midgardian attire, sitting on a blanket with Jane Foster. Loki studied her face, trying to find the reasoning for Thor’s abandonment of the throne residing there. He had only met her very briefly, and certainly they had had no real conversation. Loki remembered her attempt to slap him, and almost smiled - _almost_. He remembered who he was pretending to be, and watched the image some more.

Thor and Jane seemed to be in deep conversation. Jane’s brow was knitted; Thor’s eyes looked heavy. There were no words with this projection, and so Loki looked away as Jane placed her hand on Thor’s.

“What do they say?” Loki asked, turning to Heimdall.

“They speak of Loki. Thor mourns him greatly.”

 _So it is true_ , Loki thought. He had to remind himself that he was Odin; it was the only thing that stopped him from letting an expression slip. Heimdall betrayed nothing of his own emotions as he spoke - and Loki wondered if Heimdall cared at all that he was supposedly dead. He thought briefly of his rage as he froze Heimdall in place with the casket of Jötunheim, not far from where they stood now, knowing full well that Heimdall would probably not survive it.

 _No_ , Loki thought, _Heimdall is certainly glad to be rid of m_ e.

Loki thought quickly of the power of rage. It had caused him to do so many unspeakable things. He remembered that had even told Thor to trust his rage, not so long ago. He wondered what had caused him to say such a thing. The death of his mother, perhaps, or his last attempt to get Thor to realize that he wasn’t going to let the universe succumb to absolute darkness. Not even Loki was _that_ stupid. His rage was what made the whole thing so much easier, he thought. It was true that he told lies often, but there was nothing like the fresh drive of revenge to make them come out so much _sweeter_. He remembered Jane’s strangled cry as he used his trickery to slice Thor’s arm off; the look of confusion and grief after he threw her at Malekith’s feet. And although his rage had overwhelmed most of his thought, he still threw himself in front of the grenade to spare her of death.

Loki blinked, confused momentarily that he was looking at the image of Thor and Jane and not at Malekith’s cold, hard face. He broke his gaze from the projection and turned away.

“And I mourn Loki as well,” Loki said quietly, “He may have been difficult, but he was still my son.”

Heimdall said nothing, and Loki began to walk away from him.

“Good night, Heimdall. My heart feels lighter at knowing how well Thor fares.”

He did not look back, nor did he slow down, and if Heimdall replied he could not hear it over the sounds of his steps. Loki wanted to keep his interaction with Heimdall to a minimum; although he knew he was an excellent shape-shifter, there were some nuances of relationship that he could not mimic. Loki had never studied Odin’s private interactions with Heimdall, so he could not know if he was succeeding or not. Surely, the second Heimdall realized something was amiss, Loki would find out about it very soon, perhaps even on the spot. He allowed this thought to comfort him, momentarily, and made his way back to the palace, to his chambers, and thought of the warm, inviting bed that awaited him.

 _You are tired, Loki_ , he thought, _This game tires you so_. Indeed, it was tiresome, but as he lay in bed once again, he could barely suppress the smile that began to form. He had successfully deceived every single person at court; he sat upon the throne and he wielded the mythical Gungnir as if he were born for it. The only thing that made his smile falter was the thought of his mother. What would she say if she knew of his actions? He didn’t really have to ask himself - he already knew. Loki huffed and turned over, and finally quieted his mind.

And finally, Loki thought no more. He let himself fall into slumber, however fitful; plagued by dreams of frost giants and stars, hammers and mortal women. The only thing he would remember when he woke was that pitted feeling of emptiness, that residue of dream shared between mortals and gods alike.

()()()


	2. Chapter Two

“He fashions evil for himself who does evil to another, and an evil plan does mischief to the planner.” - Hesiod

()()()

Chapter Two 

()()()

In the dying light of dusk, Loki found himself wandering the halls of the palace aimlessly. Truly, the stone and marble glinted becomingly in the light; he allowed himself to look upon it with a detached eye as he walked and, as always when he was alone, he let his thoughts fall to more bitter depths. Court that day was tedious, in its own way. Loki knew subjectively that court was not _always_ tedious - that usually it was full of entertainment in much the same way a warrior finds in swinging his sword. But even this day when Loki awoke again to dreams weaving themselves between his conscious and the stark reality of his bed, he found himself idly restless. He thought of the way his subjects, some from Asgard and most from elsewhere, had gathered before him and fell to their knees before pleading their case. 

Most things they asked were simple, in truth. Most things were simply land disputes, or requests for opinions on how to tend to their disobedient or mischievous sons or daughters. But when one man stepped forward and knelt at Loki’s place on the throne, he came forward with a different request: A group of bandits had begun wrecking havoc on his village on Niflheim, and requested strength to cast them away. 

As always with such things, Loki called forward to Lady Sif and the Warriors Three to travel to Niflheim and capture the bandits for punishment. They often sat at court for such an occasion - and as they rose, Loki felt rather suddenly that he wished that he could go with them. 

Perhaps it was the ghosts of his past rising up to haunt him, but Loki did so terribly miss the _fun_. While it was true that most would not recall him going with them on many of their battles, but that was simply because he did not flock with them as Thor did. Quite typically he would show up last minute on the deck of the Bifrost, truly startling them at his sudden appearance, and simply say that he would travel with them. He so loved using his blade, from time to time.

“We would be most honored to assist Niflheim, Allfather,” Fandral had said.

The fame of the Warriors Three was a constant throughout the realms, Loki knew. A man somewhere near the back shouted, “Hear, hear!” and the crowd began to twitter. Loki let himself a short smile before turning to the persons in question.

“Use whatever force necessary; bring them back to the dungeons when you have tire of the game.” 

Fandral, such to his personality, gave a dramatic bow to the people behind him. 

“We will not be gone long,” he said, and they departed.

And Fandral did not lie. They returned only four hours later, with sixteen rogues in tow. And then they drank and ate and sang and danced in celebration.

Loki did not partake in their joy. It was below his stature, now. He took his dinner in peace and grew quite restless; and that was what met him here, in his promenade through the palace. 

In truth, Loki supposed, he was dancing such a very thin line. He had gotten everything he wanted - _Well, not quite everything_ , he thought, finding himself down a hall not much frequented. The guest ward where no guests had stayed in years. As a child he remembered the palace being so _full_. Odin so loved company, he loved the sounds of laughter and joy and he never wasted opportunity to display his hospitality. 

Why was it such a surprise that he had taken Loki in, then? It was nothing more than an elaborate means to display such hospitality. Taking Loki in was simply in Odin’s nature. Loki wondered what Odin thought when he found him in the temple - hidden away, possibly crying out of loneliness and fear. It angered him to think of it. 

It was there that Loki found Sif, sitting on a bench and reading a book. He found himself startled at the sight - he believed her to be partaking in the festivities of her triumph with the Warriors Three. As he drew closer, she looked up, her black hair shining in the light. Her eyes held a certain kind of sadness he had only seen a handful of times firsthand. He remembered one of those instances - when she had woken one morning some six hundred years ago to find that her hair had been hacked off by Loki’s own hand. He let himself remember it fully, then: Thor had loved her so, once. He had often spoke of her golden hair with such passion that Loki had grown tired of listening to it. This was shortly after the two of them had visited Midgard, and had somehow stumbled into a sort of hall where people gathered to watch others dress in costume and put on a performance of drama. Truly it _was_ interesting; Asgard had its own means of dramatics but the stark _humanity_ of this one had moved Thor in such ways not even Loki thought possible. 

When they had returned to Asgard, Thor took to praising Sif’s hair in the style of the Shakespearian play that they had witnessed. Very tiring indeed.

And so Loki cut it while she slept. It was not something that could easily be forgotten. Thor flew into such a rage that Loki had actually feared he may kill him, and it was only Odin who cut in and reminded Thor that to kill an Asir would invoke death upon himself. And then he turned to Loki and demanded he return to Sif her hair.

He did not say _golden hair_ , though. Loki remembered fondly of that fact. He had stolen away in the night to consult with some Dwarfs; he had always praised their craftsmanship. They possessed such magic not even he could master. And so they crafted strands of hair from the black of night itself and when Loki presented it to her, she cried. 

“You are full of such mischief, Loki,” she had said. “You tear me to pieces with your cunning and games.”

But she took it, in the end. To Loki’s surprise, in her humility, she transcended from a golden-haired beauty to a raven-haired one; yet Thor loved her no more. Such was the heart of the superficial. 

“Lady Sif,” Loki said, snapping out of his memory. “I would have thought you would be celebrating with your comrades. What brings you here?”

“I grew tired of their jubilee,” Sif answered simply. She stood and knelt quickly.

Loki let himself feel proud, momentarily, regardless of whom she thought she was kneeling to. But it was fleeting, for the thought came in his mind, _She would not kneel if she knew it was me_.

“They seem to have an unending supply of it,” Loki replied, and cast his gaze around the empty hall. “Why do you sit here, and not in your chambers?”

“I come here in remembrance,” she said, “Of a time when the palace was not so empty.”

So Loki was not the only one starkly aware of the absence of friends. He watched her closely, she seemed completely at ease speaking to him, and wondered just how often Sif and Odin spoke. Certainly, since he had locked Odin away, the two of them had not spoken much. He wondered how Sif could be so easily honest to a man such as Odin.

“It does not seem right to fill it when Asgard still mourns.”

Her eyes flashed momentarily. There was a beat of silence, and then she replied.

“Truly the loss of both your sons and your wife has not been easy.”

“What say you of this loss?” Loki said slowly.

“It is terrible.”

She looked truly sad, then, although he could not help but think that she mourned Frigga and Thor, with Loki being an afterthought. 

“I have faith that Thor will return in time,” Loki said.

“Pardon my boldness, Allfather, but I must disagree.”

“Oh?”

“Thor is no longer as young as he once was - it is true that he once thought of love as one looks forward to a feast; wonderful, but once full, done. I have seen the way in which he looks at his Jane Foster. For as long she lives, I do not believe that he would step foot in this place.”

Loki considered her words. She was always the most eloquent out of all of Thor’s companions, save himself. He marveled at her humility, then. She spoke of his love of Jane as if she were somehow detached from it, when he knew how badly it must sting.

“Sometimes…” Sif started, but then hesitated. 

“What, my child? Speak.”

“Sometimes I wish Loki were here,” she said quietly, barely above a whisper. It was startling, her statement. He did not answer; he found himself for once at a loss of anything to say. 

“I know you must wonder why I say such a thing,” she said quickly, louder. “But only Loki could convince Thor of the danger of his love with a mortal. For certain, she will die. Their lifespan is but a blink to us. I know Thor did not choose such a love, but even still…”

Her words brought forth a thought, somewhere in the depths of his mind. Yes, Loki could have possibly convinced Thor out of this, at one time, before Loki’s mischief took such a disastrous turn. Centuries ago, when their relationship teetered between companionship and rivalry, only sometimes tainted by Loki’s jealousy and cunning. When Thor took to Loki to ask advice; when Thor would go hardly anywhere without him by his side. Thor may have been impossible most of the time, but he still took Loki’s words to heart. 

Loki thought then of the Golden Apples: the magical fruit that bore immortality to those who consumed them. But they did not come to those without a test. He thought of Jane then, her mortal heart and courage that kept her by Thor’s side. Perhaps he was feeling gracious, but he thought it may be possible, even an obvious thing to do, to trial her. It was clear that their lifespan was so very short. That after her death Thor would return, disturbing Loki’s rule and it would be so very tiresome. To save himself of the inconvenience, immortality was an easy answer.

“I’ve had a thought. What say you to this,” he said to Sif. “We could save Thor of despair by giving his Jane Foster the test. If she should pass, the Golden Apples would be hers to enjoy.”

Sif was silent for a moment, and all that could be heard was the wind. 

“That would indeed save him of the inevitable grief,” she answered. “But Allfather, if she does not pass the test…” She gave him an inquiring look.

“The rules have never changed,” Loki said. “I would be forced to cast her from Asgard and erase her memory of Thor.”

“Do you think she would succeed?” Sif asked tentatively. “The test is not for the weak of heart.”

He considered her question. He knew not much of Jane’s temperament, save the short period he spent with her, when she had been consumed by the Aether. She had displayed a strength he knew not possible from a Midgardian. And yet, this test was different. It required much more than physical strength.

“I have faith that she would,” he finally replied. However, his words did not feel quite right on his tongue. Such was always with the art of lies.

()()()

Perhaps Loki was feeling particularly mischievous, and that was what brought him before Odin.

The air was cold and stale; it smelled of dust and age and stone. As he swept down the dank and dark corridor, only the sounds of his steps were to be heard. 

It was indeed very far below anything else. Nobody came here, and in truth, this was the first time he had brought himself down here since the night he had taken Odin captive. It wasn’t that he had forgotten him, no - Loki had purposefully given Odin the two months of solitude simply out of curiosity. Isolation, cold, and darkness can do extraordinary things to one’s person.

As Loki drew nearer to the cell, he hesitated. Ever aware as he was of his projection of Odin’s form, he knew that he did not want to come to the real one in it. Yes, it would be Loki’s true face that would face Odin this day. He thought of Heimdall, of his ever-seeing eyes, and decided to trust his own magic in the fact that it would not be noticed.

The magical barrier that separated Loki from Odin was the only thing that let off any light - and Loki studied the forcefield’s design for a moment before focusing on the man beyond it. The glow was faint and dim, and he could only just make out Odin in the corner of the cell. Odin was sitting against the wall, legs before him and he appeared to be very stiff. Loki wondered if he was asleep, but he saw him move his head and look straight at him.

Loki chose this moment to reveal his true self. He watched closely for a reaction from Odin, but there was none.

After such an extended period of time without his own body, Loki was hyper-aware of his own form. His limbs felt lighter; younger, he supposed. He corrected his posture and lazily rolled his neck, feeling his hair falling about his ears. He flexed his fingers around Gungnir, watching the movement closely; it was his own hand, starkly pale against the golden hue of the metal.

Loki turned his gaze once more to Odin, who simply sat there, staring at him. His face was gaunt and his hair was hanging in strings. Loki’s eyes fell to his mouth, sewn shut with his own thread. Odin didn’t move nor blink, and Loki began to feel a flagrant irritation at the sight. 

“For once the Allfather has no words?” Loki said, softly. He lifted his free hand - tilt outside, thumb stiff, first two separated from second two; it was nothing one could easily forget - and behind him, the empty torch came to life. Odin’s eyes flicked to it, and Loki let out a small chuckle. 

“Of course you have no words,” he said, louder and with more purpose. “For what could come from one with so little to say?”

Loki was merely goading him; he felt no real vindication in his words. Odin looked to him again, but still, did not move, nor did he change his expression. Loki smiled, yet his irritation was steadily coming close to anger. He found it amazing that even when Odin did nothing at all he still managed to infuriate him beyond the line of sanity. 

“To think I once called you as my father,” Loki said quietly. He raised his hand again, and Odin’s Thread was gone.

The only thing to be heard was the crackling of the flames, and Odin’s quick intake of breath. It was quiet, surely, but Loki heard it as loudly as if Odin had screamed. 

“I have graciously given you the freedom of voice. I would that you used it, before I grow tired and leave you here to rot.” 

Loki did not know what made him do it. Perhaps he grew tired of listening to his own echoes. Perhaps he sought an apology, or even better, an attempt from Odin to scold him. Loki so loved the reprimands - so misguided, so entertaining. 

But Odin did neither. He brought a hand to his lips, wincing at the tenderness. It was quite gruesome, if Loki were to be honest. He did not heal the wounds there, simply banished the Thread; he would of course summon them again, in time. He watched with fascination as Odin realized that Loki did not heal him, and for a quick second, Odin’s face crippled and Loki knew that this imprisonment had indeed affected him more than he was letting on. 

“You…” Odin began, his voice as harsh as ash. Loki quirked his head and looked at him expectantly.

“I’m listening.”

“Why…have you done this?” Odin finally asked.

Loki smiled again. This was really very entertaining. 

“I would answer your question with a question: How could I resist?”

Odin stared at Loki as if he had suddenly seen the truth of the universe written on his face. His expression was slightly unnerving, and Loki shifted on his feet, but only slightly.

“I would have expected no less in response,” Odin said, and he stood. He moved surprisingly quick considering the lack of food and drink, and Loki raised an eyebrow at him as he moved closer to the forcefield separating the two of them.

They were less than six feet apart, now. Loki misliked the closeness, but did not back up. To retreat was a sign of fear, and he was not afraid.

“To think I once thought that you still had the possibility of redemption,” Odin said softly.

Loki refused to fall to the bait - Odin was only twisting Loki’s words to fit his own agenda. He was used to these tactics - he did not get his manipulation from nobody, he mused. 

“Save your breath, old man,” Loki said harshly. “The only one who should be pleading redemption is you.”

“Why this time?” Odin replied heavily. “What transgression have I committed to merit this?”

“You’re a fool,” Loki said, and let out a laugh. It was dry and bitter; more like a bark than a sound of joy. He tried to control the rage that was bubbling out, but it was impossible now that it had come. It was the beauty of such things, he supposed. 

“You ask what transgressions you have committed to merit your imprisonment. Perhaps you should close the eye you still have and remember a time when you did not feel guilt for anything.”

Odin did not move, and Loki smashed his fist in to the forcefield, letting out a growl.

“Do it!”

Odin let out a soft sound, but finally obliged. A wave of satisfaction washed over Loki and he lowered his fist and stood up straight again. He gave Odin about five seconds of silence before he spoke again.

“I would imagine at this point you are having trouble finding this time that I speak of.”

Silence, but Loki found he didn’t mind it. Odin opened his eye and Loki saw sadness there. He knit his brow momentarily, distracted by the sight. The last time he had seen Odin make such a face, he had just banished Thor to Midgard.

“You are the fool, Loki,” he said. “I have lived far too long to remember easily my time of innocence. And what of you? You speak of my guilt; what of yours?”

“I have no guilt,” Loki spat. “I rule Asgard as if I had been for thousands of years. I hold peace in the Nine Realms; I am a kind and just king.”

“Of course.”

He narrowed his eyes at Odin’s response. It was quiet; said simply, as a parent would to an insistent child. Loki gripped Gungnir tightly.

“I would have you know that I have plans to bring Thor and Jane Foster to Asgard to administer the test, with the Golden Apples being the prize.”

Odin made no response, but Loki did not care. He continued on, fervently.

“It was your beloved Sif that gave me the notion. She pointed out so wisely that Thor’s time with Jane is ever so limited. That Jane would die, eventually - or in our standards, quite soon. And what better way to keep Thor from the throne than eternal bliss with his lover?”

“Your plan is very elaborate. But what if she fails?” 

“Do you think she would?” 

“I have no way of knowing.”

Loki started at his statement. It was the nature of the test, he presumed, that for each individual it crafted itself into uniqueness. Not even he knew of what she would face, when the time came. The Room of the Unknown was just that: unknown. He had seen in his lifetime many who emerged from it, unable to speak and filled with such fear that even he had felt a shiver at the sight.

“How poetic,” Loki said then, smirking in the dim light and stepping back. “That even Odin himself has things that which he does not know.”

“There is not anyone capable of unending knowledge,” Odin replied, gravely and with weariness. “Not even I can know each nook and cranny of the universe.”

“Oh, but you’ve tried, I presume,” Loki snapped, goading him. He grew weary of this dance of speech with Odin. He lifted his hand again to extinguish the flames behind him, and waited for Odin’s response.

“Of course I have tried. It is in our nature to crave understanding of what we do not know.”

That was the last thing Loki let Odin say, before bringing the thread back. Odin winced; in their short time the wounds had surely began to minutely close, and Loki felt a wave of nothing more than pure satisfaction at the sight.

_Not even Odin can know everything_ , Loki thought as he walked away, shifting himself as Odin, letting out a sigh at losing his own form. He vowed that he would not visit Odin again anytime soon; the conversation had taxed him in ways he thought not possible. He left Odin there in his solitude, and thought of him no more.

()()()


	3. Chapter Three

“To him who is in fear everything rustles.” - Sophocles

()()()

Chapter Three

()()()

In the days following Loki’s decision to bring Thor and Jane to Asgard, there was a sort of strange sense of unease that overcame him. As he walked the halls of the palace, or sat on the throne to hold court, or took his meals in the feasting hall, he was constantly rolling over his plan in his mind. His sleep was still disturbed and restless, but Loki had never been an easy sleeper. He remembered as a child when he was so plagued by nightmares he would stay up for weeks at a time; only when he was starting to see ghosts in his eyes and stopped being entirely able to tell the difference between reality and dreams would he finally succumb to slumber. He had asked his mother to explain this, once, he recalled. _“My mind is playing tricks on me, mother,”_ he had said. _“I see things that aren’t there.”_ And she looked at him, took in his exhausted face and bloodshot eyes, and she reached out to pat his head. _“Little Loki, when you refuse sleep your mind shows you the dreams you didn’t allow it at night.”_

_Little Loki._ She always called him that, even after he wasn’t so little anymore. And now, he’d never hear her call him that again. 

He sat on the golden throne, simply for a place to rest. Court was over for the day and the hall was basically empty - only a few scattered guards here and there filled it, and they were still as statues. Loki allowed himself to relax minutely.

He then thought of his plan. Would it really work? He considered every angle, as always when making a decision. If Jane succeeded, and was awarded the Apples, what if they decided to stay on Asgard? He wondered what Thor would do if that were the case - would he still be content as a “good man”, as he put it, or would he look to the throne with intentions of being a “great king”? With frustration, Loki found that he didn’t truly know. He thought of Jane - but all he could do was scramble up a picture of her face in his mind, slapping him in the face with such a ferocity that he had found entertainment with at the time. But he knew so little about her, and once more he found himself at a dead end.

If Jane didn’t succeed, he would be required by Asgardian law to erase her memory and cast her out. He wondered then what Thor would do - certainly he would be in no shape to claim the throne, at least for a time. But then what? Would he get over her quickly? Would he take solitude and travel? 

Loki felt like he was missing something, and he began to grow irate. 

He thought of everything again, and again, and again, until he was ready to claw at himself in frustration - or desperation. He even thought once that what he had done to begin with was such a terrible, ill-thought out idea - throwing Odin in a cell and assuming the throne in his form - but then he grit his teeth and almost shouted, _I am a king. I deserve this. This is mine!_

For the first time in over two months on the throne, Loki found himself feeling a sense of doubt that he had not felt before - not since Jötunheim, anyway. He looked down at his hand, _Odin’s hand_ , remembering his own that slowly turned to blue. He remembered the fear, the uncertainty, the questions. _What am I?_ He had asked myself. And then out loud, _Am I cursed?_

_You are my son_ , Odin had replied. Loki bit back the growl that threatened to escape at the memory of his voice. It was so like Odin to state a lie as if it were truth - so like him to assume that he could command reality with only his words. What Odin wanted, he took. How could it be so surprising that Loki was the same in that aspect?

And then he looked down at the hand that wasn’t his once more, thinking of his act. The scramble for keeping his power now that he had it in the form of his plan, and the terrible sense of fear that was not threatening, but promising to consume him if his plan did not work.

Loki was born a Jötunn, taken in by Odin and somehow given the form he had grown up in - a true Asir in every sense: physically, mentally, emotionally. He had wondered many times since discovering his true heritage exactly how his skin had changed from ice to ivory; his eyes from fire to the blue only found on the clearest of days. Was it something Odin did himself, some sort of magic that not even Loki could name, or something he did as Odin held him for the first time, in efforts to protect himself from the conflict, an instinctual attempt to blend in? For not even now could Loki summon forth his _true_ form, the form of the unimaginably frightening frost giant that he knew lurked somewhere deep inside. 

Then he thought of his life, growing up as a prince, living the lie that this was who he was. That Odin was his father, Thor his brother, and Frigga…he closed his eyes at the thought of her; her glowing presence and encouragement. He thought of the easy way, as a child, in which he had always looked to her when he could look nowhere else. Now that he was grown, he knew he had taken all of her for granted. She may not have been his real mother, but somehow that fact did not sting nearly as much as the knowledge of Odin not being his real father. She did not have to agree to adopting a frost giant, but she did. He may not have grown in her womb, but she always treated him as if he had, even after he had returned from Midgard in chains. But the look on Odin’s face had made him blind to all of it. Odin had cast him into a cell to spend the rest of his days - and if Malekith had not awoken from his slumber by the stirring of the Aether, Loki would surely still be there.

It was no wonder, really, that he was as he was. Lies, manipulation, deceit. Control, bitterness, and rage.

_Trust my rage_ , Loki had told Thor. He had asked Thor to do something not even he could do himself. He considered his position. He was living as Odin, that was fact. He was constantly forced day in and day out to act as Odin, speak as Odin. He knew it was part of the deal he had made for himself – to rule, he had to make some sacrifices, but he was beginning to forget what it meant to be _himself_. He was boiling with rage, even now, and only years of mastered self-control kept it from exploding and destroying everything within reach. And rage was the only thing he knew, since the day Thor had stormed to Jötunheim demanding it pay for something Loki had caused. 

The irony would have been sweet, if it didn’t sting so much.

Loki held his breath and told himself that it was time to move past this, for now. He was simply wasting time going over these same thoughts - surely, he had plenty of time for most of them as a prisoner. He stood from the throne and picked up Gungnir, trying to enjoy the feeling of commanding such a weapon. He thought bitterly that it had felt much better when it was Frigga who had given it to him, after Odin fell into his Odinsleep. The circumstances were difficult, yes; he was freshly wounded by Odin’s concession but strangely heightened by his newfound power. He had never realized just how much he longed for the throne until he finally sat upon it.

He stood up straight and realized with conviction just what he had to do. He left the hall, quickening his steps as he went, making his way to the Bifrost.

()()()

Loki barely noticed the heat from the sun on his back as he made his way across the Bridge with haste.

Of course, he couldn’t walk as fast as he liked - Odin’s form was not nearly as quick as his and he had an image to uphold. He did not take in any of the sights as he walked; the beauty of Asgard itself was lost to him this day. He had only one intention, and that was to view Thor and Jane before he made his decision.

He was hoping to get a glimpse of Jane, particularly. He wanted to see her behavior, in efforts to judge her character a little closer. Loki misliked not knowing things, especially about people. There was no power to be had over someone he did not understand.

As he approached the observation deck of the Bifrost, he slowed his pace. He knew it made no difference because Heimdall certainly knew his hurry. Loki almost faltered entirely when he realized he had not thought of how he would explain this to Heimdall. He brushed through his mind, trying to fit words into an explanation that made sense. He knew he had to be careful with what he said, lest he gave something away that Heimdall’s quick eyes and ears would catch.

_What happened? Silver tongue turned to lead?_

Loki did not know why Heimdall made him so nervous. Perhaps it was the way he looked at him, as if his eyes could pick through his brain like an idle hand would pages of a book. He remembered vividly the look of distrust on Heimdall’s face as Loki returned to Asgard from Jötunheim. Heimdall had never truly trusted him, he realized suddenly, and that realization brought more unease in his mind. Heimdall certainly knew his reputation for mischief and tricks, but Loki had never given him a true reason to not trust him.

He felt the unease turn to something more sinister, and Loki forced himself to shut it away. _Later_ , he thought, _Some day I will have all the vengeance I could ever want._ He did not, however, think of how.

“Good afternoon,” Loki greeted him, keeping his face decidedly neutral. Heimdall did not even flinch; his stance did not change. Loki felt a sudden strange sense of admiration toward the man in his seemingly unwavering sense of duty, despite his ill feelings toward him. He also felt anticipation - he remembered his time with the real Odin; revealing himself in his true form for the longest stretch of time yet. Loki wondered what Heimdall would do if he ever found out the truth. 

“Good afternoon, Allfather. I saw you coming.”

Of course. Loki walked toward Heimdall’s post, not this time with haste but with apprehension. He found himself unable to form what he wanted to say. And in his internal battle, Heimdall turned to look at him.

“Do you seek another view of Thor?” he asked, his tone unreadable as always. 

“I do,” Loki replied, attempting to command his words with precision and purpose. His own words echoed around in his mind, I am a king!

“Allow me a moment.”

Silence, and Heimdall closed his eyes. Loki watched with fascination. The magic of the gatekeeper was something beyond what even he could do. An innate magic that is given, not learned. Loki wondered what it was like to close one’s eyes and see whatever, whomever one wished to see - and he almost shuddered with lust at the idea of such power.

“I will show you,” Heimdall said after a time, and Loki waited for the image.

It appeared, and once again his eye darted to it like a moth to a light. Thor and Jane sat at a table, eating a meal and looking so easily _happy_. Loki almost started at the realization - it was so starkly different than what he had seen before. They were laughing, talking, drinking, and Loki could see no evidence of loss or grief or sadness in their eyes. He watched Jane’s smile, he watched her hands grip the fork and knife and he watched Thor drinking what looked like ale out of a tall, clear glass. He cocked his head, almost forgetting who he was pretending to be, yet still he could not find any answers to the questions he was asking himself. Would Jane triumph? As he watched her make a funny face at something Thor said, he found that he honestly didn’t know.

“They look happy,” Loki said finally, and the image disappeared.

“They are,” Heimdall said simply.

There was a pause as Loki fumbled for something to say. He did not want to go back on his plan now; it was the only thing he could truly think of that would keep Thor from the throne, and even that was still up in the air. He thought once more of the nature of the Room of the Unknown, but found he could not do that, either. He almost balled his fists in frustration, remembering of a time so many years ago when something irritated him beyond control and he would do just that. Back when magic was newly coursing through his veins and he was learning to control it. He felt it now, too, but Heimdall’s presence stopped him from unleashing it and Loki looked at him once more.

Heimdall wasn’t looking back at him, though. He was staring straight ahead at the sky that stretched as far as the eye could see, out and up over the ocean of Asgard. He thought of how that sky looked at night: the startling expanse of stars and planets and comets and dust. He had never fully appreciated the sight until he had gone to Midgard, where they are not as blessed with such beauty. Especially now with their huge cities and vehicles, pollution and electricity that only dulled what stars they had into almost nothingness. 

And finally, he made his decision before he realized it was the decision he had made. When he spoke, his voice sounded foreign in his ears because it was not his own, but of course Odin’s, and Loki had almost expected to hear his own tones ringing through the observation deck.

“I have made the decision to bring Thor and Jane to Asgard to give her the test.”

If Heimdall felt anything about this statement, he did not show it. Loki did not have to go into specifics; everyone on Asgard knew what _the test_ was. Heimdall simply looked at him, and while he knew he was in Odin’s form, it did not make him feel any less nervous. He realized all along that _this_ was the true test; if Heimdall accepted this as an act of Odin and it was not met with suspicion, then perhaps Loki could allow himself to relax a little more. 

“Do you wish for me to call him?”

Loki faltered at that; it was not what he expected to hear. _Call him? Now?_

“No. I will be sending someone to speak with him first. I do not want him to think of this as a punishment.”

“Of course. But may I ask…” Heimdall fell silent, trailing off. Loki watched him like a hawk, waiting for the accusations, the distrust.

He grew impatient, but tried to keep his tone light. “Ask, dear Heimdall.”

“I do not question your judgment or decision, Allfather. I simply wished to ask what you would do should she fail.”

Loki let out a soft sigh, only minute compared to the annoyance he felt. Heimdall’s voice was soft, as always, but it did nothing to ease the irritation at his question. First Sif, now Heimdall? The rules of the test were clear and known by all.

“You know the rules. I would be forced -”

“Yes, to cast her out and erase her memories. Pardon my interruption, but sometimes the rules can be broken. I have seen Thor many times these months. He is wounded by the loss of his brother. He is being healed by Jane Foster.”

Normally, Loki would have felt a burning anger at being interrupted. He had spent years dealing with it from Thor; he had no intentions of tolerating it now. But Heimdall’s point was more important than his own vanity. He considered the man’s words, and what they implied. 

“Rules _can_ be broken, yes,” Loki said thoughtfully. “But the test is a public event.”

Heimdall’s mouth twitched, and Loki realized he was fighting back the beginnings of a smile.

“It is, you are correct. But as Allfather, you certainly have ways of hiding the things you need to, do you not?”

Loki stared at Heimdall, trying to understand the context of the conversation - something he hadn’t had much trouble with pretending to be Odin until now. If Odin had much magic, Loki didn’t know of it. He knew Odin had power, and command, and physical strength. He knew he had Gungnir. Gungnir was magical in itself, Loki knew; he had seen Odin use magical elements from it. The night he had banished Thor to Midgard, he had used magic, but it was only the ancient magic of kings; the magic Heimdall speaks of requires focus, energy, thought, and most of all, precision. Only someone trained and skilled could accomplish such a feat. Loki had never known Odin to use such a magic before.

_But that might not be entirely true_ , Loki thought to himself, thinking of his blue flesh on the icy rocks of Jötunheim. What if Odin really _had_ changed Loki that day he found him?

This was monumental. This countered so much of what he thought he knew of Odin. And this could answer so many questions that he had been asking himself since he thought of the idea initially. Jane would _not_ fail, not if he had anything to do with it - and he realized that he knew this all along. That somehow, he would find a way to ensure that she would come out of that room victorious. Loki could almost imagine it perfectly, and he almost let himself smile. 

_Let’s not tempt fate_ , he thought, and looked to Heimdall once more.

“I suppose I do,” Loki finally answered. “But I would that Jane not require magic to pass the test.”

“I have seen many brave ones enter that room and then leave it only a ghost of what they were before,” Heimdall said, his eyes turning downcast toward the ground, perhaps with a sense of loss at the ones almost promised immortality. Loki found himself puzzled at the sight; he could now barely remember any names of the ones who went through those doors and did not succeed.

“If Jane is given the Apples…” Heimdall started, with the weight of a question that he did not actually ask.

“I would not require them to stay. I simply wish for my son to have as much happiness as he can,” Loki said.

Heimdall nodded, and fell silent. Loki found himself wishing he would say more, but it was apparent that Heimdall had no more words left to say. He looked to the sky once more, and made his decision to leave. He did not want to delay the impending arrival any more than he had to.

“Thank you for the vision, dear Heimdall,” Loki said finally. “I will be sending someone to Midgard soon. Be on the lookout.”

And then he turned and left, once more ignoring the sights of the majesty of Asgard rising before him. He found himself rolling over and over the conversation with Heimdall in his mind - the allusion to magic. More importantly, _Odin’s_ magic, which he did not even know existed in the sense of which it was spoken. Jane would certainly not fail, now. Loki would be sure of it.

()()()

Loki heard the sound of Sif’s footsteps and turned himself toward the door of his study, where he heard her knock lightly.

“Enter,” he said.

The door opened, and Loki watched her come inside and close the door quietly. He did not sit, nor offer her a seat, and she stood some feet away from his desk. And when he met her eyes, she knelt.

“Let’s not waste time, rise up,” he said, trying to hide the amusement in his voice. She was not wearing her armor but a casual pale orange dress; her face was red as if she had spent too much time in the sun. Sif eyed him apprehensively. He knew that look well and it was often coupled with a question. But her awareness of his stature stopped her - where if he had been just _Loki_ she would have asked as soon as she came through the door.

“I trust you are well?” Loki asked.

“Very well, Allfather,” she said uncertainly. He tried to give her a slight smile, but didn’t like the way it felt on his face. And so he gave up the pretense.

“I have a request of you,” he said.

Her eyes perked and her mouth parted, but she did not speak.

“I ask of you to go to Midgard and bring Thor and Jane Foster back with you.”

A pregnant silence followed Loki’s words; the only sound to be heard were of his beating heart in his ears. He focused on her reaction, but her face was expressionless. Whatever she felt of his statement, she didn’t show it - although when she replied, her voice was hesitant.

“You would give _me_ this task?”

“Yes.”

“What would you have me do, should he refuse?”

“I have faith that he won’t. But if he does, you may tell him that if he does not come with you, then I will bring him back myself.”

Sif’s eyes widened, and then she frowned, as if suddenly stricken with an unpleasant thought. Loki gripped Gungnir tightly in anticipation. He did not particularly think that she would refuse to do his bidding, but the apprehension in her responses made it plain to him she did not want to go.

“I will do as you request,” she said finally, her mouth forming into a tight smile. Then, “When should I leave?”

“Immediately. I don’t wish to prolong this any longer,” Loki responded. He refused to feel guilty for sending her to do this - for certainly even after centuries, he knew her heart still held love for Thor. She was the only one who made sense to go, as she was the one who had given him this idea in the first place.

“As you wish, Allfather,” Sif replied, and knelt. This time, he felt a strong stab of something like pride, but as always, it quickly dissipated. _Everything I want_ , he thought, _And still I cannot relish the moment_.

She rose, unsmiling, and left the study, leaving him in solitude. Loki turned to the window, staring into the blinding light of day, slowly fading into dusk. He watched Asgard sparkle and shimmer, and allowed himself a small smile, but letting it drop as quickly as it came. It hadn’t reached his eyes, and he wondered by he had even bothered at all.

()()()


	4. Chapter Four

“Words are only painted fire; a look is the fire itself.” - Mark Twain

()()()

Chapter Four

()()()

As it often was with dreams, Loki could never make sense of his.

Most days, he would simply wake and childishly attempt to decipher what he had seen in sleep. His dreams were rarely pleasant, and he remembered as a child listening to Thor’s descriptions of his dreams; flying through the clouds or winning great battles in other realms they had not yet seen. Loki would rarely share his own dreams to Thor. There were some things even he knew were best left unsaid.

And then one day, when he was nine, Thor had just described a particularly happy dream to Loki over breakfast: they had gone together to Álfheim, the mystical realm of Light Elves, a place they had not visited and would not until they were of age. (And how long away that seemed to him then!) His descriptions of the Festival of Grímnismál, something they had only heard about in stories, were so vivid and beautiful that Loki felt a sense of sadness when it was over. He couldn’t now remember the exact details anymore - such things like that found their way out of his memory banks as the years progressed - but he did remember Thor asking him to share his dream that morning, too.

“I don’t remember,” Loki said, as he always said when this question was asked.

“I’m starting to think you lie when you say that,” Thor replied. “Even Mother remembers her dreams.”

“I see.”

Loki must have made an unpleasant face, because Thor threw a piece of bread at him and laughed.

“C’mon, brother, just tell me your dream and be done with it. I grow bored of always telling my own dreams, while you hide yours.”

“You don’t want to know,” Loki said quietly. “Mine are not as…nice as yours.”

Thor looked at him strangely.

“Nice?”

“Yes,” Loki said, and looked down at his plate, pushing his fruit around with his fork. Not looking at his brother, because he suddenly felt a strange sense of shame. “You go on adventures, while I have dreams that sometimes wake me at night out of fear.”

“Nightmares?” Thor asked. “Does Mother know?”

Loki’s head snapped up, and he narrowed his eyes. “Mother doesn’t have to know _everything_ , Thor,” he said impatiently.

Thor stared at him like he had sprouted horns.

“Of course she does,” he said simply, as if there was no other answer he could possibly supply. 

Without missing a beat, Loki snapped, “Does Mother know you hide sweets in your dresser?”

Thor’s face paled, but he said sharply, “That is _not_ what I meant, Loki!”

“Is it not?” Loki replied, a smirk creeping over his face. Thor was so _easy_ to antagonize, it was almost impossible for him to pass up the chance. Thor looked momentarily dumbfounded, as always when Loki played such tricks. Loki crinkled his nose at him, and Thor picked up another piece of bread.

“Don’t even _think_ about throwing that at your brother, Thor.”

Frigga had entered the room, and Thor dropped the bread quickly on his plate as if it had burned him. She sat at the table, and poured herself a glass of tea. Thor shot a glace at Loki, and he knew that look well - _Don’t tell her or you’ll regret it_.

“Good morning, Mother,” Thor and Loki said almost in unison. Frigga looked at both of them, one eyebrow raised, and began to butter a roll.

“What are we fighting about this morning, boys?” she asked cheerfully. 

“We aren’t fighting,” Thor said quickly, leaving Loki to sit in silence. Loki took a bite of fruit and sighed softly. He wouldn’t tell her Thor’s secret, but it irritated him that Thor always jumped to speak for the both of them. Not just at breakfast, but lunch and dinner too.

“Of course you aren’t,” she said, taking a sip of her tea, and giving a small smile. Loki sat frozen, wanting to say something, _anything_ \- he was suddenly bursting with it, but did not know why. Thor gave him a sidelong glance and Loki saw nervousness on his face. 

“Mother, I wish to tell you of my dream last night,” Thor said, too loud. Loki hunched down in his seat, knowing his time to speak had gone. He loved Thor, really, truly he did - but he grew quite tired of being something like his shadow. And when Thor launched into his story again, Loki found he couldn’t really listen to Thor’s words, and he stood to leave.

“And then -”

“Loki, where are you going? Do you not wish to hear his story?” Frigga asked, cutting Thor off.

“Well…” Loki started, uncomfortably aware of his face coloring. “You see, Mother, I’ve already heard it, and I was hoping to go to the library before long.”

Frigga smiled. “Of course. You do so love books.”

He stood there awkwardly for a moment, trying to decide if her words were a permission of dismissal or if she wanted him to stay. Sometimes she was as hard to read as one of the books he had intended on looking at that day. Thor did not say anything, and Loki realized he was still worrying he would spill his secret.

“Yes Mother, I do. I shall see you later,” he finally said, and left the table. As he left, he heard the sound of Thor resuming his story as if Loki had never been there at all.

()()()

Loki sat up quickly in bed, not sweating or breathing deeply or in fear, but nonetheless, the dream had awoken him just the same. He struggled to adjust to the darkness and pulled the blanket off his lap, meaning to get up, but instead he laid back down against the soft silken pillow.

The strange thing about this dream was that it wasn’t really a dream at all. It was a memory, and it came to him as clear as day; even clearer than one of Heimdall’s visions. Loki rolled over and squeezed his eyes shut, battling between forgetting about the entire thing or holding onto it as a child would a stuffed animal for fear of it being taken away. It was a memory he didn’t even know he had - he had long since thought of it; it bore no consequential weight in his life. Nothing had happened that morning that was _worth_ remembering. But somehow, as always with dreams, he woke feeling as if he were nine again - he almost let himself believe that it was truth. Because if he was a child, then that would mean that Thor could come bursting through the door, to tell him to get dressed and get ready for a day of adventure. Loki found that thought oddly comforting, despite the fact that it was impossible. Thor would never again say anything of the sort to him; it was unlikely he would ever even truly talk to Thor again, as himself.

Loki found a sense of sadness in that thought. But then he found himself frowning, furrowing his brow and using all the techniques he knew to push the thought away. He focused on the emotion - the strain of thought leading to the emotion, pushed them down, and shredded them to pieces. Using this technique gave him a moment of alleviation, but he knew it wouldn’t last long. 

He let his thoughts wander to Sif, whom he had sent out yesterday evening to Midgard. He did not know if she had returned already, or if they would wait for daybreak. But what he did know is that he grew apprehensive waiting. He was confident that if she had returned in the middle of the night, he would have been alerted. But most likely, she was still on Midgard, perhaps giving Thor and Jane time to prepare. And Loki almost snorted at this - there was no true way to _prepare_ for this. Immortality was not something one could casually mark on a calendar. 

He laid there for a little while longer, knowing that the chance of any more sleep was long gone. His mind felt murky as he tried to distract him with other thoughts, but he found it impossible to truly gravitate away from thoughts of Thor and Frigga and his life before their fated trip to Jötunheim. How easy it had been then; how easy had it been to know his place, to simply _be_. Loki thought briefly about his relationship with Thor before; they had been close, but Thor understood Loki less and less as they grew older. Loki had always been one for mischief and tricks, truly, just as Thor had always been one for impatience and physical strength. They were so opposite in many ways, even in appearance, and yet Loki had never once questioned who Thor was to him. 

Until, of course, Loki found out the truth - and even now he found himself angry for not figuring _that_ little bit out himself. He was so _different_ from any other Asir - he did not take after Frigga or Odin; in fact he looked and acted nothing like any of them at all. But he had never been given any reason to think that he was different. In truth, Frigga almost favored him, in her own way - but Odin had always favored Thor, had always ignored his slights while not hesitating to calling out Loki for his… He remembered suddenly Thor’s pained words to him on Midgard, after his capture from Stuttgart. _“You give up the Tesseract. You give up this poisonous dream! You come home…”_ As if it had been an option at that point. All Loki could do was look away, to ignore Thor’s words, to pretend they hadn’t been said. No, it hadn’t been an option, even if he wasn’t under the influence of The Others. He would have ever been welcomed on Asgard as himself again, after all that had happened. 

But he did not think too much about that aspect of it. It mattered not if he had killed two, eighty, ten thousand Midgardians - and on that thought, what would it have mattered if he had actually managed to destroy every single Jötunn on that worthless, icy rock of a realm? As far as he was concerned, Asgard stopped being his home the second Odin told him he was stolen goods. And in reality, Odin was simply confirming something Loki had already almost known - 

_It all makes sense now. Why you favored Thor all these years._ Yes, it certainly did all make sense now. _I have never belonged_ , Loki thought viciously. _Not ever_.

Loki sighed into the dark of his chambers and finally made himself sit up. He walked to the window and saw the beginnings of the sun rising. He watched it for a moment, suddenly feeling quite tired despite the fact that the idea of sleep was impossible at this point. Sif would surely be returning soon, with Thor and Jane in tow. Loki felt a strange hollowness at the thought - it was what he wanted, what he decided and what he was waiting for, but he knew the next few days would be taxing and exhausting. He thought of his conversation with Heimdall again - _“But as Allfather, you certainly have ways of hiding the things you need to, do you not?”_ Loki let himself smile slightly, and began to get ready for the day. 

Yes, he was in complete control of the situation. Everything would work out exactly as he planned – even if he had to use all the magic in the Nine to ensure it.

()()()

Loki sat on the throne, doing his best to look regal and prepared for the arrival of Thor and Jane.

He did not know what to expect, in truth, despite his reassurances to himself that he had this under complete control. Thor was usually predictable, but in this instance, Loki had difficulty imagining his reaction. He did not really think that Thor would come bursting through the doors in great spirits and appreciation, but it would surely be the easier than the alternative. Loki saw clearly in his mind’s eye Thor reaching for Mjölnir, its handle glinting dangerously in even complete darkness. _That_ was something he wished to avoid.

The room was silent - the only sounds to be heard were those distant of the city below. Time seemed to stand still, in a way. He wondered how much longer he would have to wait; Heimdall had sent word that they were preparing to arrive - but didn’t say how soon.

Loki cast his glance around the enormous room - to the pillars that were destroyed and then repaired after Malekith found his way into Asgard. Most would not know that anything that catastrophic had happened here, but Loki knew better. Even the throne he sat upon was newly crafted and not quite the same as the previous one. He wondered if Thor would even notice the small differences to this room where they’d both spent so much time in.

His eyes landed on the Warriors Three, who were talking amongst each other in quiet tones, waiting for the arrival. Loki strained his ears to hear what they were saying, but found that he could not. He wondered if they were suspicious of his plan, but realized they probably were not. As far as he could tell, nobody questioned him in his rule as Odin - the Asir were quite good at ignoring blaring truths if they were masked well enough.

And then, he heard a commotion that disrupted his thoughts. He stood out of instinct, squeezing Gungnir reflexively, before he realized that what he had heard was cheering and the sounds of people clapping and yelling in joy. 

Thor was back, and Loki’s mouth went dry. 

He forced himself to sit, although it almost physically pained him to do so. He felt his foot twitch uncomfortably from the surge of adrenaline that had suddenly shot through him, and realized that he was holding his breath. He tried to remind himself that he was in complete control - that _he_ was king and not Thor, and that in a few days they would be on their way back to Midgard and he would be in indefinite peace. But not even that could truly calm him, and he braced himself for their entrance.

And after what felt like an eternity, he heard the great doors open and in came Thor, marching his way up to Loki. Behind him trailed Sif and Jane, and Loki watched them warily.

Thor had seen fit to dress in Asgardian attire; he wore his familiar armor and cape - its red color as deep as blood. He was not wearing his helm, and Loki’s eye snapped to Mjölnir at his waist. Thor looked grave, and he was not smiling.

Loki watched Jane, then, but he could not have been more disappointed. She was smaller than he remembered; she looked pale, despite the obvious fact that she was physically straining herself to keep up with Thor’s pace, and her face was a canvas of emotion. He saw fear, he thought, and something else he couldn’t name.

He momentarily tried to decide if he should stand or not. He decided to stay seated until Thor required him to stand, which would most likely happen quite soon, given the look on his face. He quickly thought of the last time he had seen Thor as himself: he was pretending to die on the barren wastelands of Svartalfheim, and Thor had been grief stricken and ranted, telling Loki that he would tell Odin that he died with honor. Loki wondered very suddenly what Thor would do if he knew just who was sitting on the throne.

“Father, I trust you’re well?” Thor finally said, more of a statement than a question, and he stopped about twenty feet from Loki. Thor seemed to hesitate, but then knelt, Sif following suit. Jane looked slightly awkward for a moment, casting her eyes from Thor to Loki, but apparently decided that she would not kneel herself. Loki knit his brow slightly.

“Stand up,” he said, and the two of them stood.

“Father…” Thor began, and trailed off. He looked around the room, then to Jane, who looked worried. Her eyes flicked to Loki, and he felt a stab of irritation at her brashness. Is this how she greeted Odin the last time she was here?

“I would ask you to explain what is going on,” Thor said.

“Surely Lady Sif explained?” Loki asked, gesturing toward the woman in question. Sif looked slightly nervous.

“She…said that you would give Jane the test,” Thor said, and Loki did not miss the intonation he put on Jane’s name. As if he were speaking of something sacred, and Loki wanted to laugh at the pure amusement he took in it. Thor had known Jane for hardly any time at all; truly, he had known pets longer than this Midgardian. 

“She spoke correctly.”

“And what is the meaning of this?” Thor exclaimed, and his hand went dangerously close to Mjölnir. “I was free to go not three months ago, and now this?”

“Watch your tone, Thor,” Loki said, providing an allusion of calm, but his heart was thumping madly in his chest. He chose this moment to stand, and he gripped Gungnir so tightly he stopped feeling his fingers. It would not do to have Thor lose his tempter so early on, and Loki fixed him with an unwavering stare.

“Father, I do apologize,” Thor said, quieter, looking down at his feet for a moment. “But I do not understand -”

“Lady Sif, I thank you for your service. You are free to go. Thor, and Lady Jane, I would that you accompany me to my study so we may discuss this in private.”

Sif nodded curtly and departed, taking the Warriors Three with her. He watched them leave and then cast his gaze to Thor and Jane, who stood solemnly.

“There is no need to look as if you are at a funeral. Come, we shall talk over this in a more comfortable setting.”

Loki began to make his way to his study, aware of the two of them following him, but not too closely. Nobody spoke until they reached the room and Loki closed the door. 

Nobody spoke for a few moments, and Loki did not sit. He looked to Thor, then to Jane, and then turned to the window, never putting Gungnir down. He was still gripping it too tightly.

“I do know this seems sudden,” Loki said. “I do apologize for that.”

His words were met with more silence. He let out a soft sigh, loud enough to be heard, but still, Thor did not speak, and nor did Jane. Loki turned to look at her again, and found her staring him straight in the eye. He almost lifted an eyebrow at the sight - she was clearly braver than he realized, or she did not understand the proper way to look to a king. Loki rather thought it was the latter.

“Jane, do you know what the test is?”

His question seemingly took Jane by surprise. She parted her mouth, and then cast Thor a quick glance, as if in question for permission to speak. 

“Answer him,” Thor said, softly.

“I…” Jane started. She looked back to Loki again, her brown eyes filled with a wild, untamed emotion that he could not place. “That…well, Sif explained it a little. You want to grant me…immortality.” She said the word as if she were testing it out; it did not well roll off her tongue and she paused a moment before continuing. “Something about a room…the Room of the Unknown. And there would be apples?”

Loki chuckled. She sounded so _young_. Like a child. And she certainly looked the part, too; he regarded her small frame and youthful face, so full of doubt. 

“That is the idea of it, yes,” Loki said. “You will not live forever, Jane.”

He had meant the words to come out softly, more like a gentle reminder than a jab - but when she bit her lip and looked to the floor, he realized that there was no true way to lightly tell someone their time was short. Surely, she already knew this fact. Thor had no doubt told her how old he was, or at least alluded to have lived a very long time. Loki briefly closed his eyes and realized that she probably could not even fathom how long they actually lived.

“I know that,” Jane said, her tone unreadable and yet he saw something like defiance on her features. “But…how can you just _decide_ to give me immortality? Do I not have a say in something like this?”

Loki started slightly at her questioning. He had expected resistance from Thor, because he would know what the test entailed…mostly. But he had never anticipated Jane not actually _wanting_ what he was offering. Truly, didn’t all Midgardians wish to live forever? He thought of his brief times on Midgard, the last one being his most recent reference. He remembered watching the news, reading articles, listening to the mortals speak. Death was not something they wished for; in fact, they strove to prolong their short lives as much as possible. They had organizations devoted to keeping people alive. 

“Forgive me,” Loki said. “But are you suggesting that you do not want this?”

Jane looked from Thor to Loki, unease on her face. Thor was not giving her much to go on; Loki saw anger on his features. He was certain they had talked about this meeting before they came, but none of this seemed rehearsed. 

“I don’t know what I want,” she replied. “I don’t really even understand what immortality _means_ , at least to you. But I do know that if I don’t pass this test, you will wipe my memories. I will forget about all of this…I’ll forget about Thor, about…about Asgard. I’ll forget the links that connected my work together. You have to realize that this is a huge decision?”

“Of course it is. I am giving you a choice, Jane. But if you don’t accept, you _will_ go back to Midgard and die soon. Your lifetime is but a blink to us. I was simply offering you something that you would be foolish to pass up. I want to see the only son I have left happy, and this is the obvious answer.”

Jane hesitated. Then, “But what _is_ the test? Nobody seems to be able to answer that.”

“It is called the Room of the Unknown for a reason,” Loki said. “I only know the rules; I do not truly know what lies inside it.”

“Then what are the rules?” she pressed. “Thor said something about withstanding something like a trial for an hour. What _is_ it? I don’t understand.”

Thor sat down in one of the big leather chairs he was standing beside. He put his face in his hands, and Loki found himself taken aback by the motion. Jane shot a glance to him, and then back to Loki.

“The rules are simple. You enter the Room, and then we wait. You have an hour to face whatever lies inside. You will be frightened, but you must not call out to Thor. You must not call out for anybody. When the hour is up, if you have succeeded, you will be granted the Golden Apples - and with immortality, you will be one of us, in most senses.”

Jane looked dazed; she sat down as well, and Thor raised his head to look at Loki. 

“This is not right. Jane should not have to face such a monster.”

“ _Monster_?” she cried.

“Thor -” Loki began in a warning tone, but Thor cut him off.

“For what else could lie beyond those doors? A _monster_ , truly. To prove worthiness, you are faced with your worst fears. Every thing you have ever feared, in every way that you could possibly imagine - and worse. I do not like this, Father. I do not wish to subject Jane to it.”

Loki stared at Thor, anger boiling in his throat. He wished quite suddenly that he could raise Gungnir and blast Thor into a hundred thousand pieces; he wished he could banish him to the pits of Hel. For it is only because of Thor that Loki brought them here in the first place, and now he wondered if he had been better off leaving them on Midgard.

“Father, I will not allow Jane to do this. She has already proved herself worthy of immortality. She survived the Aether in her veins. She saved all of the Nine from Malekith using her science. I will not-”

“ _Silence!_ ”

Thor fell quiet, and Loki realized that he had only slightly raised his hand - tilt outside, thumb stiff, first two separated from second two - and he quickly balled his hand into a fist to avoid giving himself away. Thor did not seem to have noticed, and Loki almost sunk to the ground in relief - his heart was thumping so madly in his chest he thought it might burst out. 

He looked to Jane, who had an expression of confusion and anger on her face. Loki took a deep breath in attempts to calm himself, and when he spoke, it was loud and full of command.

“I will send someone to show you to your chambers. We may further discuss this when you have calmed yourself.”

“I hardly need to be shown-”

“Thor, I will have no more last remarks from you. I think you forget who is king,” Loki said, and Thor stopped speaking immediately. Jane’s eyes followed him as he left the study, but if she flinched at the sound of him slamming the door shut, he wouldn’t have known.

()()()


	5. Chapter Five

“If you look into your own heart, and you find nothing wrong there, what is there to worry about? What is there to fear?” - Confucius

()()()

Chapter Five

()()()

The palace was deathly quiet as Loki silently padded his way to Thor’s chambers.

He had cloaked himself - something he had mastered when he was still quite young - and double and tripled checked that his invisibility was nothing but perfect. Even though he was still in Odin’s form, there were some things he would very much like to avoid, one of them being someone seeing him eavesdropping outside of Thor’s door.

Not that he expected to hear anything in particular - but it was worth a try, and Loki found himself quite bored after their exchange earlier that day. After he left the study, he went to the library for some solitude, but not even his book could entertain him. After about an hour of rereading the same page multiple times without retaining any of it, he took to pacing and pulling books and scrolls out at random, not searching for anything in particular but trying to distract himself from his own thoughts. The conversation with Thor and Jane had not gone well, and Loki remembered starkly and with antagonizing clarity that he had slipped. He had visibly shown Thor who he was simply by raising his hand in the archaic gesture of magic.

And Thor had not seen it. He was so wild with emotion that he missed the indication that he was not talking to his father, but to Loki - his not-brother. His past-brother. And the fact that he hadn’t seen it could not have made Loki more amused.

_Odin wanted to give the throne to_ him? 

In reality, Loki supposed that he wasn’t that surprised that Thor managed to miss that detail. He was not always the most perceptive; Loki surely always trumped him in that regard. Thor did not have the patience for observation. He preferred to smash until there was nothing left to observe.

Loki found himself in front of Thor’s chambers and checked his invisibility. He heard voices beyond it, and crept closer to it, checking the hall for patrols. He was alone, and he began to listen.

“I just don’t understand,” he heard Jane say, and he strained his ears to hear closer. Her voice was pleading, it was positively _annoying_ , if truth be told. Truly, Thor gave up the throne of Asgard for _that_?

“Jane, I know this is confusing,” Thor replied. “I do not attempt to understand all of my Father’s actions. He surely has a very good reason for this.”

Silence, and Loki pressed his ear to the door. 

“What would you do if I failed? I won’t remember you anymore. I can’t…I just don’t know what to do.”

He realized rather suddenly that Jane was crying, and he almost clicked his tongue in impatience. Mortals were always so _weak_ , but this was so much more intimate than his past experiences - he had directly caused this, and this was the woman Thor loved. And still, he felt nothing but annoyance at her emotion.

“You _won’t_ fail… but if you do, then I will follow you back to Midgard and find a way to make you remember.”

Jane let out a strange sound, something like a laugh, but Loki heard the strain in it. He wrinkled his nose in disgust, even though there was nobody to see it. 

“I don’t think he would let you go,” she said softly. Loki held his breath, waiting for Thor’s reply.

“I don’t care. I will go. I would travel to Hel and back, if that is what I had to do.”

“You would do that for me? Defy your own father?” Jane asked incredulously, and Loki wondered if she even knew what Hel was - or perhaps she mistook it for the Midgardian word _hell_ , and Loki realized that there was not much difference, anyway. 

“I have already given up my claim to the throne,” Thor said, his voice obviously pained. “I have lost my brother, my mother. I would not lose you as well, Jane.”

Loki jumped back from the door as if it had burned him. He checked his invisibility, and stood there for a moment, no longer listening to the conversation. He walked down the corridor, turning at the end, and walked back to his own chambers, going over what he had heard - and where he had stopped listening, finding himself terribly weak for doing so. What was in this woman that Thor had changed so much for? Who _was_ she?

Once at his own door, he checked to see if anybody was around. The hall was empty, and so he uncloaked himself and opened the door as quietly as he could. Once inside, he lifted his hand and locked it, and then took a deep breath.

He shed Odin’s form, and found that he was shaking. He stood straight, smoothed his hair back. He walked to the huge, ornate mirror and stared at himself.

Loki was staring back at him, of course. He studied his face, taking in his tired eyes and too-long hair. He looked at his posture, noting that he was standing as properly as he was tutored to do as a child, and he looked at his hands. Slender fingers met his gaze, pale skin. He was not a monster, in this form. He did not quite resemble a true Asir, but it did not matter. Nobody had questioned his birthright; most nobody even knew what he was. It was a family secret, he mused. Or Odin was too embarrassed to admit that he had stolen a Frost Giant and crowned him a prince of Asgard.

He decided to cut his hair, at least. He did not foresee needing his true form much in the future, but his own vanity almost recoiled at his disheveled appearance. As he lifted his hand and drew a pair of scissors from a drawer across the room, he wondered if he would ever truly be himself again.

He regarded his hair in the mirror once more; he was never much good at cutting it himself, but he had no other options. And as he worked his way around his head, he thought of what to do with Jane and Thor.

_I have lost my brother, my mother._ If only Thor knew how wrong he was…about Loki, anyway. He did not much think that Thor would be overjoyed to see him, regardless of what he might say on the contrary. _A monster sitting on the throne of Asgard, disguised as your precious Father…it is all too ironic for words_ , Loki thought, as strands of his hair fell to the ground.

He would give Jane the test; it was that simple. But after hearing Thor’s words…

_I will follow you back to Midgard._

That was it, then. Perhaps Jane was never destined to receive the Apples after all. If Thor meant what he said - and Loki certainly thought he did - then all he had to do was put her in the room and wait for her to fail. He remembered all the times he had seen people leave that room, starkly pale and eyes full of such wild fear that he could not understand, as a child, why such a room existed in the first place. And _those_ men and women had been strong warriors, sorcerers, healers; they had hailed from Álfheim, Niflheim, almost all of the Nine, but only rarely from Midgard. Nobody from there had ever succeeded, he realized suddenly. Their temperament was too weak, too frail. They lived the shortest lives out of anyone in the realms. Their mightiest were pale in comparison to even the weakest of the Asir. 

_And Jane is no exception_ , Loki thought harshly, remembering her tears.

He finished his task, and looked at his finished work. It was not perfect, but now that he had most of the length, he raised his hand and evened it out with magic. Not that it truly mattered, as the only person who had seen him in the past few months was Odin, and that was only once.

_I should at least feed him…_ Loki thought randomly. And then he froze, hand gripping the scissors. He felt bitter at himself for a moment, wondering if he was truly growing weak - but _no_ , he told himself, _He may be Odin but he still needs to eat before long. If he falls into Odinsleep…_

He grit his teeth, remembering his promise to himself that he wouldn’t be visiting Odin again in the near future, but realized he could not put it off much longer. Perhaps he could work in some sort of routine; he did not have to feed him daily but he could not risk Odinsleep. Not yet, anyway. He would first need to figure out just how much he could hide from Heimdall.

But even _that_ would be difficult, because it was not a matter of Loki walking up to him and asking casually, _How does your magic work?_ Heimdall was not stupid, Loki knew, remembering distinctly when he had returned from Jötunheim - he had met Heimdall’s suspicions. Loki could cloak himself, and he could even misdirect Heimdall’s visions slightly. For how else would he be standing here today if he couldn’t?

Loki scoffed at himself in the mirror, pushing his thoughts aside, and raised his hand again. The scissors found their way back into the drawer, and with one last look at his finished work, all that could be seen between Loki and then Odin was a flash of green light. 

()()()

The next morning, after a hurried breakfast in his chambers, Loki walked the familiar corridor to Thor’s chambers, unable to mute his screaming brain. 

He had intentions of speaking to Thor and Jane again, although as always with a conversation with Thor, he wasn’t sure how it would play out - oh, of course there would most likely be more yelling and perhaps even some tears from Jane, but Loki would see this through. 

As he reached the door, he hesitated a beat. And then he knocked, feeling slightly out of character - but whether it was from Odin or himself, he wasn’t quite sure.

“Who is it? Just a minute,” he heard from beyond it. It was Jane’s voice. He strained to hear sounds of Thor, but could not. Loki wondered if he was sleeping - or worse, if he wasn’t there at all - and did not answer her question. Instead, he waited.

The door opened, and he saw Jane’s face peek through. He did not move initially, and then she opened the door wider, her face dark and solemn.

“Oh, it’s…it’s you. Thor isn’t here right now, he went off with that man, Fandral.”

“And you did not join them?” Loki asked.

“I was tired.”

He waited for her to say more, but she did not. They stood awkwardly like that for a few seconds, and Loki watched her with fascination. She stood defiantly, despite her small frame. Her face was thunderous, and he almost smirked - she truly had no respect for his authority, not in the way she should have, anyway. He wondered starkly if she feared him, and then realized it didn’t really matter. Not yet, anyway. And then Loki realized that Jane being alone was actually the perfect opportunity.

“I would come in, to speak with you,” he said. 

Jane obviously hesitated; she looked from Loki to the door, and then shrugged, stepping back. Loki pushed the door open wider with his hand to give him more room, and stepped inside. He shut the door behind him.

He took in the surroundings; he had not been in here for some time. The room was mostly unchanged from his memories - the only difference now was that Jane was in it. He noticed that she was wearing Asir garments - a light blue dress, silken slippers - but her hair hung down without ornament or braids, and he remembered the last time he saw her, dressed in much the same way. She simply stood there, staring at him, and he did not sit.

“How does Asgard treat you?” Loki asked, breaking the tense silence. Jane looked momentarily confused at his question, as if he had suddenly asked her something much more complicated.

“Oh, um…it treats me fine, I suppose.”

Jane was now looking away from Loki, and he lost what patience he had for small talk. He almost rolled his eyes - but he remembered who he was.

“I suppose we should cut the pretense, for now,” he said smoothly. “Please tell me what you have decided.”

Her eyes met his, and he felt a sudden strange sense of fear creep over him. He wondered where it came from; certainly this Midgardian posed no real threat to him. He waited for her answer, starkly aware of the silence in the room.

“I haven’t,” she said. She sank into the chair she was standing by, looking rather numbly straight ahead - at Gungnir, Loki realized. 

“What would help you decide?” he asked.

“Look - I know you’re Thor’s da- _father_ ,” she said in a rush, “I know you’re a king, and what you say is law and all that, but…you don’t rule Earth. You don’t rule _me_.”

Her words came out so quickly, Loki wondered if he had just imagined them. But no, Jane was looking purposefully at anywhere but him, and he watched her face crumple. She wasn’t crying, at least, he supposed. 

He tried to feel angry at her statements. He was a king - yes. He did not rule Earth - Midgard - no. At least not totally. _I ensure their safety, and that is more than what they deserve_ , he thought viciously. He remembered their team of heroes - The Avengers. He thought of the green beast, the one called the Hulk, and grimaced.

“I’m sorry,” Jane said quickly, as if the words burned on their way out. “I didn’t mean to be rude.”

She thought his grimace was in reaction to his words, of course. He chose to allow that. It was easier than the truth, anyway.

“You _are_ rude, and I grow impatient with it. I am a king. Of Asgard. Do you even understand what Asgard _is_? I ensure your realm’s safety on almost a weekly basis. If not for me, your home would have been obliterated a long time ago.”

He thought of the Ice War. The Frost Giants walking the length of Midgard, their frozen feet turning grass to ice with every step they took. He was only an infant at the time - _one of them_ \- but he had heard the stories, many times over. Jane sat frozen herself, not moving, not blinking. Loki took a step closer, letting Gungnir _clink_ on the ground for effect. He regarded her small form, her face so full of emotion, and thought quite venomously how easy it would be to kill her. She was so insignificant - an ant to a boot. And how he would have relished it - at least for a moment - until he realized exactly what he was thinking.

He did not want to kill Jane - he simply wished to control her. Loki rather wondered where the difference between the two had become so blurred. He was never a killer before – _before Midgard_ , he thought suddenly - outside of battle. He momentarily faltered before her, and looked into her eyes. He saw such _fear_ there, fear that he could immediately relate to. He thought of The Other, whispering in his ear, its gray, scaly hand reaching up to his face…

And for a moment, Loki forgot where he was - he was suddenly transported to that dark, cold realm; the realm with no name, no real place in the Yggdrasil - the dry, dusty air that filled his lungs, the putrid smell of The Other’s flesh, its mouth that shone bright red as it hissed in his face with the breath of a corpse, and Loki should have forced himself out of it, but he couldn’t, because he heard the words in his ear so vividly it was like living it again -

_You think you know pain? He will make you long for something as sweet as pain._

“Um - um, Odin, sir?”

Loki snapped out of his reverie, and realized he was standing not four feet away from Jane, staring at her with such ferocity he wondered why she did not look afraid anymore. But then he realized, she did: she was leaning back in her seat, eyes darting between the door and Loki, as if deciding if she should run for it.

“My apologies…I fear I am more tired than I let on,” he said, and stepped away from her. His heart was beating uncomfortably fast, and he did his best to wash the memory away from him, to forget the desolation and fear…

Loki controlled himself, and when he spoke, it was soft and calm.

“Take the test, Jane. I would not have called you here if I did not think you would succeed.”

Loki enjoyed lying to her - she was such an easy target. Her eyes widened slightly, mouth parted. She looked momentarily stunned, if truth be told, and Loki let himself relax slightly. He waited for her response.

“You really think that?”

Her question was soft, but uncontrolled. Loki quite suddenly saw a flash of maybe something in her that drew Thor to her - but as soon as he saw it, it was gone. He stared at her relentlessly, now, unable to stop himself. He wanted to see whatever that was again; he wanted to _understand_ her, and it was infuriating him that he could not. 

_She is a stupid, insignificant woman from Midgard_ , Loki fumed to himself. _What is there to understand? She means nothing. She_ is _nothing_.

He realized that Jane was watching him, eyes glistening, and he knew that tears were soon to come.

“Yes, I do,” he finally said, and steadied his grip on Gungnir.

“I’m just afraid,” she said quietly. She stood and inched away from him, toward the open door leading to the balcony, her dress and hair rustling in the breeze. He watched her close her eyes, and found himself unable to continue watching her.

“You fear the unknown,” Loki said, too loud. He saw her turn her head out of the corner of his eye. “It is natural.”

“You really don’t know what’s in there?”

Loki finally forced himself to meet her eye, a ghost of a smile playing across his face - _Odin’s face_ , he thought suddenly out of nowhere. He had never wished for his own form so dearly until now. There was something so _boring_ about commanding Asgard as Odin, Loki realized. There was no true pleasure to be had from it. The people did not bow to _him_ , but to an _idea_. 

“I do not. Nobody does. There is complete darkness inside. There are stories told that some form of beast resides in there - but nobody who has actually come out of the room has said anything of the sort.”

The words were out before he had any real time to abridge them; he watched Jane pale and thought that perhaps he should have left the _beast_ part out of it. He did not even know what was truth when it came to talk of the Room of the Unknown.

“I do not believe there is a beast in there,” Loki said quickly. _I am ruining this_ , he thought angrily.

“Then what do you believe?” Jane asked. “You’re not helping your case, here.”

She was so…courageous. She spoke so casually, without respect to his stature. He knew that most of Midgard did not have kings and queens like the rest of the Nine, but he knew they had their own leaders and politics and mannerisms that were not so far removed that she could not at least attempt to be polite. 

He decided to grit his teeth and bear it, for now. He did not much fancy the idea of Thor reacting to him punishing his woman.

“I believe that the room is full of old magic that reacts to the individual. I do not believe there is a living creature inside of it.”

Jane nodded, her eyes looking down at the floor.

“Hasn’t anybody thought of taking a light in there?”

Loki let out a laugh without even realizing he had done it - and it was a true laugh, not one of the fake ones he had done so many times these past months, cultivated and perfect rhythm to Odin’s. It was _definitely_ good that Thor was not here.

He quieted just the same - he did not know if Jane had seen any recordings of him on Midgard, but he did not fancy testing the theory. 

“Lights extinguish as soon as one steps through the threshold.”

“Of _course_ they do,” she said, but Loki heard the sarcasm. He raised an eyebrow at her cheek.

He watched her step back and slump on the bed. She wasn’t looking at him anymore; she turned her gaze toward the open door, presumably taking in the sight of the city’s skyline. He knew the sight well - he had spent much time here as a child, when Thor was still his brother. When things were not so convoluted and difficult.

“It’s so _beautiful_ here,” she said quietly. “I remember the last time I was here, before all the crazy stuff with Malekith…I had the Aether in me, and Thor knew something was wrong. It all happened so fast. He just picked me up and called Heimdall…and it was like _nothing_ to him. Just another day, I suppose. And then I _saw_ it. This place - so golden and _breathtaking_. I…” She trailed off, and he watched her turn to him, her eyes full of such startling emotion that he was almost taken by surprise. “I am on another _planet_. All the work I’ve done…all the nights I didn’t sleep. All the years I spent staring at the sky. And now…I’m here.”

Loki knew what she was talking about. He remembered Erik Selvig – as soon as Loki had asked him about Jane, he spilled everything, like a dam that finally broke from pressure. And then Loki remembered his stint in Stuttgart, the screaming crowd in the museum. He remembered the sudden lust that shot through him as he watched them, he remembered the humming and warmth of the Scepter as he walked through the doors, shedding his illusion of Midgard attire. 

_Is this not simpler?_

His own words echoing around in his mind, he regarded Jane again, and wondered if she would have knelt. She hadn’t knelt to him as Odin, but he hadn’t asked her to - and neither did Thor. Loki thought it odd, actually; it was such a stark contrast to the Thor he used to know.

“I can imagine that it has been…an experience,” Loki finally said.

“So can you see why I have doubts about this…test?”

“Of course I can. But that does not change my stance on the matter.”

Jane pursed her lips, obviously frustrated. He was growing tired of her insolence, her absolute refusal to bend to his will. He had given her the false promise of choice, but in the end, she did not actually have one. Even if he had to kick her through the door, she _would_ go inside the room.

_Freedom is life’s great lie._

“I still need time to think,” she finally said, and Loki held back a growl. He forced it down, gritting his teeth, and she met his eye - he saw nervousness there, he thought, and maybe a little bit of defiance. 

“I understand. I will leave you to do so. Please, do not feel confined to only this room. The palace is yours to enjoy, as is the city. I know you did not get to see much the last time you were here.” 

He kept his tone light, but it almost pained him to do so. He did not want to play nice with this woman.

“Thank you, I suppose,” Jane said. 

Loki nodded curtly and turned to leave. On his way out, he was turning the conversation in his head, bending and twisting it until he could see it from each angle. He did not get her to bend, no, but he knew he was getting close. And as he walked the corridors to the throne room, a plan was forming in his mind - just a little extra nudge from someone unexpected might just get her to agree.

Once on the throne, he let his mind go to work. He needed this to be carefully thought out; it would not do to have sudden bursts of emotion or slips of character. It needed to be perfect, and Loki wondered when he started becoming so _sloppy_. But it was no matter; in just a few short days, Jane would be back on Midgard, and Thor would go raging after her. Loki smiled at the irony of it. 

_This will work out perfectly_ , he told himself. _What could possibly go wrong_?

()()()


	6. Chapter Six

“Mastering others is strength. Mastering yourself is true power.” - Lao Tzu

()()()

Chapter Six

()()()

It was dark and cold in the dungeons, but Loki paid no mind as he walked to Odin’s cell. 

He carried a tray with sustenance, basic things like bread and rice and even an apple, because he was feeling generous. He had no intentions of lingering here, and as he shed himself of his illusion of Odin, he pressed a strange sort of sneer on his face as he approached the forcefield. 

Odin looked exactly the same as he did the last time Loki was down here, and he reminded himself that it was not even two weeks ago. He shuddered despite himself at the chill in the corridor, and raised his hand.

The forcefield yielded temporarily, and he stepped inside, setting the tray before Odin quickly. Odin looked up at him, but Loki refused to meet his eye.

Another raise of his hand, and Odin’s Thread was gone. He stepped back, waiting for Odin to dive for the food, but he did not.

“Eat, before I grow tired of waiting and send it away,” Loki finally said.

Odin reached out and grabbed the bread, taking a tentative bite. For the first time Loki allowed himself to take in the cell in which he had put Odin - it was plain, simple. A cot was against the wall, as well as a sturdy wooden chair, and Loki found it odd that Odin did not sit on it, but chose to sit on the floor instead. There was a curtain hanging from the ceiling of a deep brown color, which Loki knew separated the rest of the cell from the washroom.

He pulled the chair out and sat before Odin. Loki tried to feign indifference to the situation, but found that he could not. He knew that Asir could go a very long time without eating - perhaps even years, if some of the stories were true - but once Odin took the first few bites, he had begun attacking the food as if he could not control himself. Loki felt a strange stab of pity inside him at the sight.

Odin cleared the tray in only a few minutes, and Loki stood. With slight concentration, he lifted his hand and sent the tray to the kitchens, and turned to exit the cell. 

“Did you bring Thor and Jane to Asgard?” he heard, and he stiffened. Odin’s voice sounded strange coming from beyond him and not _from_ him, now. Any sense of pity he felt previously had suddenly evaporated, and Loki partially turned, only allowing Odin a view of his profile.

“I did.”

“And how goes your plan? Does Thor rejoice at reunion? Does Jane await the room with anticipation and excitement?”

Odin’s words were mocking, Loki knew. He turned fully, disguising his trepidation with a look of nothing short of loathing.

He was going to answer Odin with a sting, a jab - but when he opened his mouth, nothing came out. He could not truly think of anything tangible to say. All words faltered and died in his throat and he became overwhelmed with the hatred he suddenly felt for Odin; it was so strong, so much stronger than even Thor with Mjölnir. It physically consumed Loki, and instead of a rebuttal, he raised his hand and Odin’s Thread was back, and he had never before savored so much the look of pain that shot across Odin’s face. 

And then Loki left, putting the forcefield properly in place behind him. He did not have to answer - for Odin was merely goading him; he did not seek a real answer to his questions. Odin surely _knew_ the answers to his own questions; and Loki felt another fresh stab of anger that Odin had most likely known all along. Loki forced these thoughts aside, though. For it was he who sat upon the throne, and Odin himself was rotting in the dungeons. Odin was only words, now, and Loki forced his mind down a different path. 

After shifting back to his illusion of Odin, he walked back to his chambers to chase a few hours’ rest. Tomorrow he would hold court, and then after, he hoped that Jane would take a trip outside of the palace.

()()()

After court that day, Loki decided to put his plan into action.

He had only seen Thor briefly; he had entered the throne room quietly, and walked to Fandral and again disappeared with him. Loki began to wonder where the two were going; he did not think it terribly in character to leave Jane alone so much. But perhaps Jane asked for some time alone, to further gather her thoughts. Loki did not presume to know _everything_ that happened between the two of them. And he certainly could not presume to know much of what went inside a mortal’s mind.

He walked the familiar halls to Thor’s chambers; cloaking himself after ensuring the coast was clear. He waited outside the door for any sounds, but heard none. He grew bored rather quickly and after a few moments, he began to wonder if she would leave the room at all - and then he heard the door open. He watched Jane emerge and begin walking in the general direction of the throne room.

He followed her. She walked quickly, but he could tell there was nervousness in her steps. Loki had told her, essentially, that Asgard was open to her, knowing full well that she would probably not be able to resist the temptation of exploration. _And I was right_ , he thought with a smirk. 

As she approached the hall, her steps slowed, and Loki followed suit. An Einherjar walked up to her and asked her where she was going.

“Oh - um, the…the king told me I could explore. I wanted to go outside for awhile,” Jane answered, obviously taken aback by the imposing guard who bore no expression on his face. He nodded, curtly, and commanded a man of lesser rank to come over. 

“Follow Lady Jane for protection. She wishes to explore,” the guard told the younger man. Loki wanted to laugh out loud at the look on Jane’s face; she looked so confused and worried at his words, he wondered if she would change her mind.

But she didn’t. After a few attempts to strike a conversation with the guard and being met with only one or two worded replies, she set off walking again, obviously doing her best to pretend that the guard wasn’t there at all. Loki followed, quietly, taking special care not to make any sound with his steps. He did not wish to test the Einherjar’s acute hearing.

Once outside the grand doors, Loki could see Jane visibly relax. She walked a little quicker, looking all around her; he could imagine what she was seeing. He too glanced around - the day was brilliant and warm and there was the slightest whisper of breeze. After passing the large fountain and turning toward the business district, Loki wondered what it would be like to experience this for the first time. He took care to give as much space as possible between him and the passing citizens. It would not do well to bump into someone and watch them try to figure out just who they’d ran into - and Einherjar were everywhere, whether patrolling or eating lunch at wooden tables outside of taverns or shopping. Loki had never before noticed just how many Einherjar there were, but now he realized they were seemingly endless in number. 

He remembered coming out here as a child, with Thor and their own personal Einherjar, purses full of coins just waiting to be spent - and he remembered the way the crowds parted for them, the way the people would stop what they were doing to watch them pass. He remembered following Thor into shops, the way the shopkeepers would show their respects and then follow them around the store, answering any questions that Thor or Loki had about the products on the shelves. He wondered when it stopped - his fascination to know everything he could. And then he remembered the Tesseract, and realized that he hadn’t really _stopped_ , he had just redirected it to things that actually _mattered_.

Loki snapped out of his train of thought when someone almost ran right into him; he jumped to the left to avoid them and watched them pass. A child, looking no older than eight, with blonde hair bouncing as he ran. And then he heard shouting, and turned to see two Einherjar running after him, telling him to halt.

A thief, then, Loki realized, and he turned away from the scene and caught back up to Jane. She did not seem to notice the commotion and he realized that she was walking slower and slower, looking around and taking in the street with such fascination that he felt a strange swell of pride.

_You see the beauty of Asgard_ , he thought, _It surpasses anything you have ever seen before_. 

She turned to look at the guard that was following her.

“Is this the market?” she asked him.

“The beginnings of it. The true market is down the road, to the right. You won’t miss it.”

Jane nodded and began walking again. Loki wondered why she had the market in mind in particular, but he realized that it was likely that Thor had told her stories. And then he remembered something so vividly from his childhood -

_Loki ran, his hair falling out of place, falling into his eyes, and he swiped at it irritably. It would not do to have his vision obscured, not when he had to outrun Thor. He was acutely aware of the sound of Thor’s breathing drawing closer and closer behind him, and he screwed his face up in effort to run even faster -_

_“Stop, boys! You’ll hurt someone!”_

_But that was only Alvar, one of the Einherjar who had followed them out that day, and Loki paid him no heed. He rounded the corner, only concerned with winning this race, with finally beating his brother at_ something _…_

_“Loki!”_

_It was someone else that shouted his name, not Alvar - and Loki almost faltered. He realized that it was Thor, but he would not fall for the trick. He did not look back, but kept going, and continued running until he reached the point they decided would be the finish line. He reached it, and for a terrifyingly startling moment, he thought he might not slow down, but he finally willed himself to stop. He stood there for a moment, hands on his knees, panting, and stood up straight, realizing that Thor was not there._

_“Thor?” he called, and looked around. Thor was not there, or anywhere, and Loki squinted his eyes in the sunlight._

_He saw Alvar some thirty feet away, and rushed over to him, his body still surging with the adrenaline from winning the race._

_“Alvar! Where’s Thor? I won! I finally beat him!”_

_Alvar gave Loki a cross look, and pointed. Loki followed his finger and saw the other Einherjar - he never caught his name - pulling Thor off of the ground, his elbow scraped and his hand bleeding._

_“Brother! What happened?” Loki asked, going to him. He felt a moment of sadness. He had finally beat him, but only because Thor had obviously tripped. People in the marketplace were watching; Loki felt his face burn in shame._

_“I fell, obviously,” Thor replied, his voice gravelly. Loki looked to his feet._

_“I thought I won.”_

_“You might have - but I must demand a rematch, when my hand does not sting so much.”_

_Loki looked at him - his eyes were full of jest - and allowed himself to laugh._

_“Your stinging hand does not affect your speed, brother.”_

_He held his hand out to grasp Thor’s elbow: an old Asgardian gesture. He was not sure why he did it, they were not saying goodbye; but Loki felt it appropriate. He was accepting the rematch._

_“Perhaps not, but I grow hungry, and the sun is starting to burn me,” Thor said. “Let’s go back.”_

_“Of course,” Loki replied, and they began the trek to the palace, joking and talking about running and falling and the hunt they were going to go on within the next fortnight -_

“It’s beautiful,” Loki heard, and it was not his memory. He blinked; for a moment he almost expected to see a younger Thor before him, but of course that was folly. He saw Jane, instead, apparently speaking to nobody - but then Loki saw that she was speaking to an old man at a cart, who had given her something that she was inspecting.

“Keep it,” the man said.

Jane’s hand closed around whatever the man had given her, and Loki wondered what it was. It was not uncommon for Asir to give trinkets away, but it was not often they gave gifts to perfect strangers. He watched the man give a glance to the Einherjar behind Jane, and Loki realized that the man must know who Jane was.

_That_ was surprising - but then he remembered the sounds of cheering he had heard when Thor and Jane first arrived. Perhaps this man had seen her on her trip to the palace.

After thanking the old man, Jane began to move away, and turned the same corner that Loki had all those years ago, in the race against Thor. He was not sure why this incident in particular had presented itself so clearly in his mind. There were many races before and after that time. He looked around and realized that he had spent almost the entirety of his return to Asgard in the palace. He had not left its walls except to meet with Heimdall at the Bifrost.

Loki’s stomach gave an uncomfortable lurch at the thought of Heimdall. He wondered what Heimdall would see if he turned his gaze to Odin; certainly not the _real_ Odin, but definitely not Loki, either. He had shrouded himself. He wondered if Odin could ever do that, and realized that he had spent so much time worrying about Jane and Thor and the test and not enough about Heimdall. But Heimdall was disposable; if he became a problem, Loki could easily rid himself of him. He shuddered a little, despite the warm, sunny day. 

_So be it_ , he thought, _Heimdall is no true concern of mine_.

Jane wandered around the marketplace, and Loki realized that this was the opportunity he was waiting for. After glancing around, he hid behind one of the merchant’s tents, using the back of the blue and green cloth as a shield against prying eyes. He concentrated, and changed. 

He looked down at his hands, and saw that they were considerably smaller than his own. He looked at his now-small feet, golden sandals covering them. He did not have a mirror, but he knew he looked like a typical young Asir boy - he had given himself brown hair, brown eyes, and the clothing of a middle-class merchant’s son. He stepped from behind the tent and looked around for Jane. With her loose hair, she was easy to pick out.

Loki walked close to her, hesitantly, acutely aware of the Einherjar that trailed ever so closely behind her. He watched her look at a stall of fruit, knowing that what she saw was similar to those of Midgard and some others from other realms, too. 

Loki watched her stop at a tent selling jewelery. He took a deep breath, closing the few feet of distance between them, and spoke.

“You’re Jane Foster,” he said, dawning a reverential face and finding it so _strange_ that he was looking up to her, instead of down. Jane turned, looking about with a sort of surprised expression, and then saw him before her. Her eyes darted around the marketplace, and she smiled nervously. He watched the Einherjar look at him, eyes narrowing at his presence, taking a step forward. But Loki did not look suspicious; he looked like a respectable Asir child, and Jane held her hand out to stop the Einherjar from coming any closer.

“How do you know my name?”

“ _Everyone_ knows your name,” he replied, and shyly stepped closer to her. “You came with Prince Thor. You’re the woman he _loves_.”

Surprisingly, Jane blushed. Loki did his best to hold his worshipful gaze toward her.

“Well… _love_?” she said, laughing nervously. “I’m not sure about that…but…yes, I did come with… _Prince_ Thor.”

He almost laughed at her apparent awkwardness of saying Thor’s title. He wondered if she ever truly put the two together. Odin being king, and Thor being his son, made him a prince - but he was distracted from his thoughts when Jane stepped closer to him, and knelt.

She regarded him for a moment, her eyes searching his.

“What’s your name?”

“Elis, my lady. Elis Fritjofson,” Loki lied quickly, conjuring a name seemingly out of nowhere. Jane smiled again.

“That’s a great name,” she said. “What brings you here all by yourself?”

“My father sent me down here to buy some bread and fruit,” he answered, this lie coming out much smoother than the last one.

“I see.” 

She stood, and Loki watched her stand there for a moment, looking around the marketplace, and he was wondering with a sinking feeling if that was the end of it - but then he watched her pull something out of the satchel she carried at her waist, and she looked at him again.

“A nice gentleman gave this to me. I want you to have it,” she said, and extended her palm to him.

He peered at what she was giving him, knowing it was the trinket the old Asir at the cart had given her. It was only a simple stone in her hand; probably just polished and enchanted to look more precious than it was, but nonetheless, it shined spectacularly despite its size. He reached out, tentatively, and took it. Remembering that he was pretending to be a boy of about eight, he held it up to the sky, squinting at it like he had never seen anything like it before. 

“What is it?” he asked.

“I’m not sure - he didn’t say. It _looks_ like an amethyst. Where I come from, some people think they have protection and healing powers.”

“Really? Where you come from, that’s Midgard, right? Do you think it works?”

Jane smiled again, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes this time.

“Yes, I’m from Midgard. I just call it Earth, though. And I don’t know…I think it can. So whenever you’re scared or lonely, hold onto that. It just might make you feel not so alone.”

She spoke with such honesty, he had to remind himself that he was _not_ eight but over a thousand and he did _not_ believe that this simple rock had healing or protection powers. But still, he clenched his hand around it just the same. Jane started to stand, her eyes already on the other side of the market, and Loki realized he was about to lose her.

“I heard you’re going to take the test.”

His words tumbled out, quickly, and although they hadn’t had the intonation he had originally wanted, Loki realized that this was even better. Jane’s eyes widened and she took a small step back.

“How did you hear that?” she asked.

“I don’t know…just something my father said,” he replied as earnestly as he could. He watched her regard him again, but he saw her expression had changed - it was like watching shutters close against a window.

“I - I don’t know if I will, honestly.”

“You don’t want to live forever?” Loki asked, looking up at her with confusion on his face. Jane knit her brow, obviously torn between telling him what she thought and thinking better of it.

“It would be nice, don't get me wrong,” she said. “It’s just not that simple, you know?”

“What’s not simple? If you pass the test, you’ll be one of us. It’s an honor.”

Jane broke eye contact with him, looking at the ground. Loki wondered if he had pushed it too far, but then she looked up, her face relaxing slightly.

“An honor, huh? Why is that?”

Loki was not expecting her question, and didn’t really have an answer for that – not an answer from an eight year old Asir boy, anyway. Of course, his own mind came forth with plenty of answers: _Asir are better than Midgardians in every possible way. Asgard is the Realm Eternal, while Midgard is nothing more than a rock that happens to grow conscious beings upon it. We are stronger, faster, smarter…_ But those weren’t the answers he could say. And Jane was expecting an answer, so Loki forced a smile.

“It just _is_. We are the top of the Yggdrasil. We have the Allfather. He protects all of the Nine Realms with Gungnir. Asgard is the Realm Eternal.”

Jane looked at him while he ranted on, her eyes not truly seeming to focus on his as he spoke.

“I see…and what is wrong with being from Midgard?” she asked.

“I suppose…I suppose nothing is _wrong_ with it,” Loki replied, grasping for the correct words. “But if you were to marry Prince Thor, then wouldn’t you want to live forever with him?”

Jane’s face paled, and he wondered if he totally missed the mark. She shook her head quickly, and then managed a small smile.

“Yes, yes of course I would,” she said, in a soft tone. _That is not her true answer_ , Loki thought. But there was nothing more to do - any more pressing and she might become suspicious. He squeezed his hand, feeling the stone she had given him press into his palm. 

“I am glad I could speak with you,” he said finally. “When you enter the room, I hope to be there to see it.”

And then he turned, and allowed himself to disappear amongst the crowd. He wanted to turn to see her expression, but in his small form, he might risk getting trampled.

Nearer to the palace, Loki checked his surroundings and walked behind a house to cloak himself. He felt the stone still in his hand - he had been holding it without even being conscious of it. He moved his arm as if to drop it, but instead tucked it into his pocket. He walked back to the palace, thinking over what just happened. He wasn’t sure if it was enough to push Jane into the room without using physical force, but it was all he could do for the time being.

()()()


	7. Chapter Seven

“Minds that are ill at ease are agitated by both hope and fear.” - Ovid

()()()

Chapter Seven

()()()

That evening, Loki made for the dining hall - he knew Sif would be there, and he wished to exchange some words.

He wondered just when he had become so complacent. As Allfather, he had all the power in the Nine to do most anything he wanted. The truth of the matter, as always that evil voice in the back of his mind was eager to say, was that Thor’s presence had made him desperately uneasy. Before, the palace was full of ghosts - his memories, mostly, or stories told over hot cider by the fire; but now, those ghosts have become living, breathing things. 

He thought of the moment earlier that day in the marketplace, when he had so suddenly remembered his race with Thor. It was so long ago - well over a thousand years ago. Loki would rather not remember those things.

_We were raised together, we played together, we fought together. Do you remember none of that?_

And Loki had told him that he remembered a shadow. That was true, at the time. He was always in Thor’s shadow; and even now, with all of Asgard thinking Loki dead, he would forever be remembered as the dark, deceitful prince that almost burned Jötunheim, Midgard, and even Asgard itself.

But still he walked freely, as Odin. There was a delicious sense of irony even then to Loki from this fact. He wondered what would happen, if he revealed himself. That rebellious part of him, always so close to the surface, knew the pandemonium it would surely cause would make him feel the strangest sense of freedom. He longed for his own form, but knew it was fruitless. Because after the pandemonium he would surely be outnumbered, and forced to pay for his crimes.

Loki approached the hall. He heard the laughter, the music. After proper dinner service it became a tavern of sorts. He remembered a time when he frequented this hall, himself. With Thor, Sif, the Warriors Three. With all their friends from the earlier years. He remembered so many nights of having too much to drink; their drinking games and Loki’s attempts to show off his magic despite the alcohol that always hindered it. He recalled that they never appreciated his magic - not really. 

Sif was sitting at a table sort of by herself - the other end of it was occupied by three off-duty Einherjar who were playing a card game. Loki watched her for a moment, not stepping into the room itself, feeling uneasy despite himself. 

“Lady Sif,” Loki called, and she looked up from her drink. He noticed her hair pulled back into a simple braid, her eyes full of fatigue. Loki flicked his eyes around the room; it had gone deathly quiet. He watched everyone stand quickly, uneasy in stance.

“At ease, everyone,” Loki said. “Enjoy yourselves.”

“Allfather,” Sif said, standing. Her hand clenched around the handle of her mug.

“Come.”

Sif followed him out and he kept his pace slow. He wished for something to grip, too. He thought of Gungnir sitting in his room and suddenly wished desperately he had brought it.

They walked out onto a balcony - Loki needed the fresh air. He walked up to the railing, looking down slightly. That familiar feeling of vertigo washed over him, and he saw Sif rest against the railing herself. 

“Are you in good health?” Loki asked, not particularly caring for the small talk. He looked at Sif; she took a long swig from her drink and closed her eyes momentarily.

“Of course. Are you, my king?”

She met his gaze, and he took a deep breath, trying to find words. 

“Yes. However, I grow…impatient.”

She nodded, and for a moment there was silence. Loki eyed her mug with envy; he did not drink ale or wine in this form. Alcohol diluted the strength of magic.

“Lady Jane still does not agree to the test,” Sif said finally. It had the weight of a question, but they both knew it as fact.

“She does not.”

“My king, why have you come to see me?”

He met her eye again - she looked wary. He looked out over the ledge, at the horizon where the buildings and mountains met the sky.

“When you went to Midgard…” he started, trailing off. Loki suddenly felt terribly fatigued, and he put more weight against the railing. “What happened, exactly?”

“Heimdall sent me to them. I might have gotten lost if Lady Jane didn’t track the Bifrost.”

Loki perked at that.

“Explain.”

“She’s a…scientist,” Sif said, saying the word as if it were foreign. “She has these metal boxes that tell her when…there are, as she put it, ‘atmospheric disturbances’.”

Loki repressed a smile. Yes, he knew what Jane studied - and he pushed the thought of Erik’s ice-blue eyes boring into his as he explained Jane’s work aside, for now. 

“I see. And then?” he pressed.

“And then they took me to their dwelling - and I explained why I was there. What you wanted, Allfather.” Sif paused, biting her lip. “Thor was ever so upset. And Lady Jane…she just didn’t understand. But Thor would not defy you. They let me sleep in what she called a ‘spare room’, and at dawn we departed.”

“But what did he say, Lady Sif? What did he say when you told him?”

Sif dropped her gaze from his, looking down at the ornate railing. 

“He reached for Mjölnir, Allfather. He cursed and Lady Jane went white as snow. He can be quite fearsome, when he loses his temper.”

Loki nodded, curtly. He could imagine the scene perfectly in his mind; he did not know why he even asked her to explain it further. Thor was indeed fearsome when he lost his temper.

“Why does Thor leave Lady Jane alone so much? He disappears with Fandral often.”

“I…I don’t know, Allfather.”

“Do you not?”

Sif paled, and Loki gripped the railing, his fingers burning from the pressure.

“I really don’t know. They have been hunting; I know not why they leave her behind.”

Loki looked away from Sif and let go of the railing. He felt his temper rising, it was bubbling in his chest, and he very suddenly wished he were alone. He glanced at her, briefly, before stepping away.

“Thank you for speaking with me,” he said, knowing full well that she had no choice. Sif gave a weak smile, and bowed her head.

“Always, Allfather.”

Loki left her then, making for his chambers. There were no more words left to say, anyway.

()()()

The rocks of Jötunheim were slippery and Loki found himself unable to get even footing as he trekked across the landscape. The cold stung his face; he drew his furs tighter around him, his hood whipping in the wind. His breath came out in misty puffs and the air burned his lungs as he inhaled. 

_What a dreadful place_ , he thought. _How could anything live here?_

His eyes scanned the surroundings; the only light to be had here was from the moon. It was so bright in comparison to the dark realm that it burned his eyes to look straight at it. Every time he had been here, he had never seen a sun. He thought back to his lessons as a child, but could not remember the name of Jötunheim’s sun. He was inclined to think that no sun’s light would ever grace itself across this place.

Loki walked, and walked. That strange voice in his head kept asking why he was here - there was no purpose for it. His gloved hands had long lost their feeling, and he squeezed them open and closed, attempting to urge some blood to them. It didn’t work, and he gave up trying.

Nothing was familiar to him. He knew he had been here before, multiple times - he recalled coming here with Thor, Sif, and the Warriors Three, after Loki had let the Jötunn into Asgard on Thor’s coronation. He remembered Thor’s rage, his sudden idea to stroll into Jötunheim despite Loki trying to convince him otherwise. He looked at his arm, covered by his black coat. His gloved hands that hid his pale skin. He remembered that fateful trip as if it were yesterday; it was the day he saw himself as who he truly was. _What_ he was. He did not want to come here that day, and sometimes he wished he hadn’t. 

_But no, that’s not right_ , he thought. If he hadn’t come, he would still be living a lie. He would still be living in Thor’s shadow, made double by the enormous throne he would surely be sitting upon.

He tore his eyes away from his coat and back to the horizon. He was nearing the palace, or what would be a palace on any normal realm. To him, it was nothing more than rock caved open, nothing more than a place to hide from the wind, and barely even that. It hurt even more to breathe now, he found himself holding back coughs as he inhaled. 

Despite the wind blowing, the ice cracking and falling, the realm was eerily silent. He thought suddenly of his maddened attempt to destroy this realm; he had not thought much on it, truly, since his fall. He wondered how many Frost Giants he had killed that day. He cast his gaze around, seeing nothing. No movement in this frozen place, and Loki wondered if he had managed to kill them all in the end.

“Loki, of Asgard.”

He stiffened instinctively at the voice, it was hollow but full and deceptively loud, the words bounced around and around the rocks and ice and snow. Loki looked to see who had spoken, but could see nobody at all. 

“Show yourself.”

He spoke clearly, calmly. He walked toward the source of the sound, entering the sort of hall made of rock, remembering vividly the confrontation that last took place here. He lifted his head, scanning the walls. Looking for Jötunn, but he could see none.

The voice laughed, a strange, haunting sound that rang through Loki’s ears and almost made him cringe.

“ _Show yourself!_ ”

His shout echoed off the walls, he felt the sound waves move through him and under, and he realized how desperate he sounded. And then as though in slow motion, he saw movement ahead; blue coming out of the darkness of shadow from the rocks.

Laufey, he knew immediately, and something inside of Loki began to boil despite the frigid air. Fear, shame, rage, and something else - something beyond anything he had felt before. He stared at the face of the monster - _for what else could he be?_ \- and grit his teeth, eyes stinging no matter how hard he tried to stop it. He couldn’t move, he was frozen in place, and not even his hand would reach for his dagger nestled inside of his coat -

“Now you see me. What will you do?”

Laufey’s voice was condescending, it was disgusting, it was absolutely grating in Loki’s head. But still he could not move, and Laufey advanced, prowling toward him like a cat would circle its prey, his red eyes glinting from the brightest moon in all the Nine. He smiled, then, and Loki’s stomach contorted in fear, anticipation spreading throughout his body from the adrenaline that kicked in, and it was torturous, miserable. He wanted nothing more than to bolt; his pride had long since evacuated. 

“You’re - you’re dead,” Loki said, his voice wavering. It held none of his warmth; it was replaced with cold. 

Laufey laughed again, coming closer, and closer. 

“So perceptive, son of Odin,” he said, his voice full of malice.

“I am no son of Odin,” Loki spat, suddenly filled with something aside from fear.

“No…I almost forgot,” Laufey said smoothly. He was close enough to Loki to touch him, and Loki watched in horror as Laufey reached out and grabbed his arm, his gigantic hand gripping the cloth of his coat. It was as if he had no control over his own body; Laufey took the fabric and ripped it, exposing his bare flesh against the elements, and it was so cold that all Loki could do was stand there, his mouth parted in a sort of silent scream that never left his mouth, because Laufey placed his hand on his pink skin, and he watched in horror as his own arm turned blue -

“You’re _my_ son,” Laufey hissed. “You’re the son that should have never been. You were so small - I was shamed to have you bear my name. And now look at you, in no better a place. _Nobody_ would claim you now.”

His words were loud, so loud in Loki’s head. His eyes burned with tears and he felt them freeze, he was nothing more than a frozen block of blue Jötunn flesh and he suddenly knew that what Laufey said was true -

Loki sat up in bed, eyes flying open and gulping air as if he had suddenly been drowning. He scrambled out, ripping the blankets from his legs, shedding Odin’s form as he did so, unable to handle being someone else in that moment.

He stood, wavering on his feet, his hair falling in his eyes, and he swiped at it hastily, his hand catching wetness on his face. He faltered, and rubbed his eyes, slowly. He had been crying, and he almost yelled in frustration and anger and out of relief that it was simply a dream and _not_ real. The tears he could not help, but his reaction to this dream he could. He steadied his breaths and closed his eyes, trying to recount what just happened.

But no: he did not _want_ to remember it. As he saw Laufey’s face plastered on the back of his eyes, he opened them, quickly, and looked around the room. He was on Asgard, it was pleasantly cool in his chambers and _not_ frigid and desolate. It was dark, yes, but he took his gaze to the window and saw not Jötunheim’s bright, pale moon but the stars and dust and colors of his own realm’s nighttime sky. He took a deep, shuddering breath, swallowing the lump in his throat.

And then he laughed.

He laughed because now that he was safely out of the grasp of his dream, it was all so _funny_. Perhaps this was fate’s grand jest - to cause him such unease. He quieted quickly, knowing that Einherjar could be patrolling, but as he fell silent, he could not hear any sounds at all. The palace was as still and silent as a grave, and Loki sighed.

His mind felt sluggish and he walked to the bookshelf on the other side of his chambers, eying it warily in the dark. Odin’s books - not his own. He glanced over the titles, grand works from all of the Nine, even some from Midgard - although none from recent history. He pulled out the big green book of Asgardian tales, stories he remembered Odin reading to him and Thor as children. He opened it, its binding cracking in protest, the pages giving off a musty, dank smell. This book had not been opened in a long time, Loki knew.

He felt the grit and dust collecting on his fingers as he turned the pages, eyes flicking over the vivid illustrations. He stopped over the depiction of Malekith, only slightly feeling the tightening in his jaw, remembering that it was by his hand that Frigga died. Loki quickly pushed the thought away, looking intently at the page. This illustration made the Svartalf look absolutely demonic; his eyes trailed over the delicate lines of his hair that was flowing freely in the wind, his face parted into two: one side light, the other dark. He remembered Malekith's pale, white flesh vividly in his mind's eye and he looked awhile longer before flipping the page.

And he came to what he was looking for: the old tale of Odin’s triumph over Jötunheim. He read quickly, the words were once long forgotten but now as he read them again, they came back to him easily. This was Thor’s favorite tale as a child; he would always ask that Odin read it. Loki’s hand twitched as he held the book, staring at the drawing that accompanied it. Jötunheim was not as much a mystery as early Svartalfheim; the illustration was mostly accurate, and quite gruesome, at that. In it a seemingly courageous Einherjar was stabbing a Frost Giant through the heart, blue blood flowing freely from his wound. Out of instinct, Loki looked at his thumb on the page. He knew his blood was red, in this form. He sighed and closed the book, putting it back in its place.

And then, he heard the sounds of footsteps at his door before he even registered what they were. He heard the door creak open, and it was like slow motion: he did not have time to react, move, or even blink. 

And when he finally turned his head to the door, he saw Jane there, and he thought rather bitterly that of _course_ it was Jane who was there. She was standing, frozen, wide-eyed, staring at him with such disbelief and dismay, and he saw something else flicker across her features, too, but before he could put a name to it her mouth open and she spoke -

“Loki?”

And Loki did not have time to really think about his reaction. He spun around, lifting his hand. Jane went slack, a stunned expression on her face; he knew she would be screaming if he hadn’t removed her voice. He slammed the door shut with another lift of his hand and watched her topple to the ground.

He stood there, breathing heavily, staring at her limp form. _How did this happen? How did she get here?_ he asked himself, slightly panicked, and knelt down beside her. All of her muscle control was gone; she could not even move her eyes to look at him regarding her, and he felt a sense of pity despite the situation - _she found me out_. He darted his eyes around the room, empty, silent and dark. He cursed himself for shedding Odin’s form when he woke from his dream. He cursed his weakness.

“What am I to do with you?” Loki asked her. He supposed he could kill her, and he actually considered it before realizing that it wasn’t the answer. He needed to do something to get Thor out of the picture. He wished he had the power to wipe memories, but in reality it was not that simple - he could not selectively erase specific memories that suited him. It was all or nothing, and in the end it would not help matters.

But then, he knew. There was no time to think; he lifted her up and cloaked himself. He opened the door, checking for Einherjar patrols, and his heart almost stopped despite himself when he saw one walking toward his chambers. Loki backed inside the room, closing the door and locking it, waiting for the guard to pass.

After a few moments, Loki ensured his grip on Jane was secure, and he opened the door once again and looked out. The hall was empty, and he carefully stepped out of his chambers and walked down the corridor, turning at the end and delving deep into the palace, farther down than even the guest chambers. He took her to a deserted corridor that not even guards patrolled; no lights were even lit this far down. And at the second to last door to the end of the hall, he opened the door and dropped her on the floor, not caring if it hurt her.

He would come back, later. He did not remove his enchantments and closed the door, locking it securely, and for good measure, putting his own design on the lock so only he could remove it. And then he made for the weapons vault - it was time to create a diversion.

()()()


	8. Chapter Eight

“The greatest evil is physical pain.” - Saint Augustine

()()()

Chapter Eight

()()()

Loki’s illusion was convincing. He rushed to the weapons vault, giving the image of him gripping Jane’s arm, as Odin. It would have been funny if it weren’t so serious. When he arrived in front of the huge, ornate doors, he threw them open before the Einherjar had a chance to open them for him. He looked around the room wildly; there was only one patrol so late at night - or early in the morning, depending on the time. He found that he had no idea.

“ _Out!_ ” he barked at the guard.

The Einherjar looked at him in surprise, his eyes flicking between Loki and the illusion of Jane quickly. He hurried up the steps and through the doors. After the thunderous sound of them closing had long since passed, Loki finally allowed himself to relax minutely, despite the situation he found himself in. He magically locked the doors behind him, just in case, and his image of Jane disappeared instantaneously, like a light suddenly extinguished.

_Jane Foster found me out_ , he repeated to himself in a strange sort of mantra. He had no idea how she found herself in his room in the middle of the night. A fresh surge of rage flushed through him when he saw her surprised stare in his mind’s eye. _How did this happen_?

It was no matter now, he found himself thinking. He took the steps down into the vault, his pace quickening as he reached his goal - the Tesseract.

Seeing it here after all these months evoked a haunted, dark feeling within Loki. He knew the feeling well; it was all he felt on Midgard when he was so close to it. The Tesseract was like a drug, and Loki was the perfect addict - seeing it now, his breaths quickened and his heart began to thump uncomfortably fast. It was strange, being so close to it. He had known all along that it was here, and still he did not give into temptation to go back to it again. Yet now that he was here before it, all he could hear was an odd buzzing in his head that overshadowed all of his logic. 

_But no_ , he thought suddenly, and the buzzing quickly subsided, like a shadow in the face of a torch. _I did not come here for the Tesseract, not really_.

He came here for a diversion. And so he stepped toward the stone, its ethereal blue hue dancing in the shadows of its grove; Loki licked his lips and held his hand out, stepping closer until it was within reach.

After a slight hesitation, he picked the Tesseract up with both of his hands. It was warm, as always - something he could never understand - and it seemed to ignite every nerve in his body. The illusion of Odin was shed, somehow; its magic countered his own, apparently. He closed his eyes, his jaw working in effort to keep his mind on track for his goal. He didn’t need to do much, really - simply send out a burst of energy to help his future lie, the one he would tell Thor and Heimdall and everyone else that asked. 

And with the slightest concentration, he did it. It was not something to be explained - a simple tilt of the mind in the direction it wished to go, and a brilliant white-blue light shot out of it, accompanied by a sound not unlike the thunder that Thor could produce with his hammer. He sent it to Midgard - somewhere remote - to be safe, and after less than ten seconds, it was over.

Loki’s breaths came out in short, quick bursts as he finally set down the Tesseract. He stepped back, eying it warily, and shifted into Odin’s form again. And with one last, lingering look, he walked away from it. He was no slave to a stone.

()()()

“ _Where is she?_ ”

Thor’s question was not entirely a question, but a shout. Loki sat straight up, gripping Gungnir as tightly as possible - he lost feeling in his fingers. He had been sitting on the throne for what felt like no time at all in waiting for this exchange with Thor. He had not sought him out - Loki knew he would not need to. His insides churned unexpectedly in apprehension; he knew he had to play this as expertly as he knew to make this work. 

And Thor’s shout bounced off the pillars of the throne room as he bounded inside. The Einherjar, forever standing still as statues, seemed to momentarily forget their duties and looked at Thor, quickly, before resuming their original position with a rigid gesture from Loki. Thor was approaching quickly, and Loki swallowed heavily. His mouth was dry and his heart was bouncing in his chest. He did not stand.

When Thor finally reached the steps to the throne, he halted quickly and did not kneel. Loki chose to ignore this slight, for now. He wished to see this through to the end, and he kept his face neutral.

“Good morning,” Loki said, calmly.

“How can you greet me so?” Thor said, his voice strained. “Jane has disappeared. They tell me she activated the Tesseract. How is this possible?”

Loki found it very hard then not to roll his eyes - and he finally stood, stepping down the steps until he was level with Thor. He regarded him, warily, taking in his panicked face and knit brow. _Sentiment_ , Loki thought then. _Such a weakness_.

“Who gave you this information?” Loki asked sharply, remembering the Einherjar he had sent away in the weapons vault. Perhaps a dishonerable discharge was in order, then. “It is not exactly correct. Yes, I sent Jane to Midgard using the Tesseract, but she did not activate it. She wouldn’t know how.”

Thor’s response came out so pained that Loki almost looked away. “ _You_ sent her to Midgard? But _why_? Why did you do this? And with the _Tesseract_ , no less!”

“She wanted to leave,” Loki replied evenly. “She did not wish to go into the room, so I sent her home. She was quite emotional, at the time. I simply gave her the fastest way out.”

“I have heard her say nothing of the sort! Yes - she had doubts, but she had not made a decision!”

“Apparently, she _had_ made a decision.” 

Thor screwed up his face, obviously trying to fight back tears.

“I will go find her,” he announced. “I will go to Midgard and fix this.”

“There is nothing to fix.”

“There is _everything_ to fix, Father!”

The room was still and silent. Loki glanced around to the Einherjar standing guard, their faces devoid of emotion. He wondered what they thought of this exchange, and flicked his eyes back to Thor, who looked as if he was deciding between finishing the conversation or running for it right then. 

“Go back to Midgard, then. If that’s what you wish,” Loki said gravely, turning to reclaim his throne. His steps were heavy and he almost let out a sigh at the sudden emotion that gripped him. It was crippling and annoying. _I’ll not feel guilt for this_ , he thought. Before he could reach the throne, though, Thor spoke.

“It is what I wish,” he called to Loki’s back. “Father, I don’t know what truly happened last night, but she did not deserve this. The Tesseract does not make for a pleasant journey.”

Loki turned his head to regard Thor, who stood there a moment longer, his eyes betraying his strength. For Loki saw there the memory of their own journey with the Tesseract, the day Loki had failed his mission to rule Midgard. The whipping, the shaking. The magic that felt like it was eating them alive as they flew through naked space…

But it mattered not, because Jane did not actually use the Tesseract. There was nothing to pity her for - but Thor did not know that. Loki knit his brow at the obvious dedication Thor felt for her, trying to think on anybody he himself had ever felt that way for. Perhaps Frigga. Thor, at one point. Friends from childhood. 

And nobody now.

“Leave, then,” Loki said. “I will not apologize for what I’ve done.”

Silence, for a beat. And then Thor turned, his face bearing an age that Loki had never seen before. 

“You never do…” he heard Thor whisper. He opened his mouth to retort, but found that he had nothing to say. Thor was already briskly walking out of the hall, anyway, and Loki’s mouth parted slightly at his words. 

Odin had never apologized to Loki for any of it, he realized in the aftermath of Thor's words. He never apologized for taking Loki - regardless of his fate otherwise – or for lying to him; even for promising him a throne with no true intentions to ever give him one. Loki watched Thor leave, staring at the doors long after the red of his cape disappeared through them.

()()()

That evening, Loki cloaked himself and made his way to the room in which he had locked Jane. At the door, he hesitated. He did not entirely know what lay beyond it. But he could not leave her lying in there forever - and he thought rather cynically that his count of prisoners was steadily rising. He did not have the time for many more.

He opened the door and closed it softly behind him, putting the locks back in place. The room was dim from the setting sun, and he took a breath and turned.

Loki’s eyes fell immediately to look at Jane, on the ground in a frigid heap, unable to move from his enchantments. He regarded her a moment longer, bracing himself for what was to come. He raised his hand, and waited for Jane to move.

She did, slowly. He watched raise her head, he watched her twitch and shakily get a grip on the stone floor. Her legs moved, her arms bracing herself in her effort to stand up. She got on all fours, and then stood, her entire being quivering.

Loki stood by the door, wary - his experience with mortals, and this one in particular, gave him reason to believe that this would not be particularly easy. Her face was nothing but fear, though; her mouth was parted and her breathing deep and fast. Her eyes filled with tears, and she bit her lip. She looked to Loki, and then away quickly, as if the sight of him physically burned her.

The stagnant silence in the room was unnerving. Loki had expected shouting; he had even silenced the room in preparation for it, just in case. He took a step to the right, away from the door, waiting for her reaction.

It was as if something had taken control of her; she bolted for the door much more quickly than he would have thought possible. Her hands fumbled at the large cooper knob, and she wrenched it in effort to open it, but it did not budge.

“ _Goddammit!_ ”

She began to pound on it, incessantly; she began to yell, high pitched and desperate - for Thor, for Odin, for help, _please someone, anyone_. Loki wished for it to stop. He took no pleasure in this.

“It won’t open, Jane. Give up.”

Her head snapped to look at him, her eyes alight and wild - wet but not truly crying. She then backed off the door, advancing toward him, her finger raised. Pointing, condemning.

“What the hell is going on? How are you _here_?” 

He remembered their original meeting - her slap to his face, her expectancy that it would hurt. In truth, he had barely felt it - he had turned his head for affect, and he wondered if she would try it again. She was defenseless here; completely alone with him in a sound-proofed room. 

“Calm down, Jane.”

Her mouth opened and then closed. Her face was beginning to get quite red, and she stared at him incredulously. She raised her hand again, pointing it at his chest.

“ _Calm down_?! Are you _serious_?! You - you put me in here for _hours_! I couldn’t _move_!”

“I’m aware of that.”

Up until this point, he had kept his voice calm. But his temper was rising, and he wished very much to rip that finger off her hand.

“Tell me what is going on. Where is Odin?”

_She can’t be serious_? Loki asked himself, staring at her numbly. She had yelled for him, he recalled, as she was pounding on the door.

“What?”

“Your Father - the king? Where is he?”

Loki realized that she had not put it together yet. She had no idea he was pretending to be Odin at all. She did not understand his magic. 

“Well, he’s definitely not here,” he said lazily.

Jane’s face contorted in anger and she turned away from Loki, resuming her position at the door. She tried the handle again, twisting it this way and that, her face screwed up in concentration. 

“What did I say, Jane? _Give it up_.”

“I -” Jane said, and turned to look at him again. “I am _not_ someone to be _ruled_ , Loki!”

Perhaps she was remembering his time on Midgard, but it made no difference. At her words, Loki let out a growl and closed the distance between them in one sweeping motion. He raised his hand and grabbed her left arm, yanking her from the door. He heard a loud _popping_ noise, followed by her scream. He threw her to the floor, and she made an effort to scramble up, wincing and making weak whimpering noises.

“What -” she gasped, raising her right arm, hovering over her left shoulder. Her eyes were streaming tears fully now, her breathing ragged.

Loki realized he had dislocated her shoulder, and his heart sank uneasily. He tried to think of how he had lost such control, when he knew he had never intended to _truly_ hurt her. Her words echoed in his head - _I am_ not _someone to be_ ruled _, Loki!_ \- and the anger bubbled again. He wondered when he became so passionate that he could not control himself. 

Without a second thought, he walked over to the bureau against the wall, opening the drawers, fumbling through layers of cotton and wool, papers and ink until he finally found the small box he knew held healing stones. He took one out and turned.

He approached her, watching her stiffen as he drew near. Her mouth was firmly closed, her brow knit. She looked like a wounded animal, he realized then. He knelt down next to her and showed her the stone, not knowing if she even knew what it was.

“Let me fix this.”

“ _No._ ”

She used her legs to move away from him, her eyes not quite meeting his anymore. He sighed, audibly. He could play this game all night – he was quite good at it - but he knew she needed to be healed before long. He stood and looked down at her head.

“Jane, stop this immediately. I can make the pain stop.”

“I don’t want your help,” she said weakly. 

“I don’t _care_ what you want. You can sit there quietly, or I will make you. It is your choice.”

Jane shot him daggers, but said nothing more. Loki took this as acquiescence and knelt beside her again, taking his hand and crushing the stone over her injured shoulder. Her eyes did not meet his as the stone was at work; as a matter of fact her expression barely changed the entire time it was working. Loki knew this was an itchy, uncomfortable method, but Jane did not show it. Finally, the stone finished. He watched her rotate her shoulder for a moment, and she met his eye for a split second.

And then, she kicked him.

From her position, it was not enough to even take him by much surprise - physically, anyway. His eyes widened at the brazen contact, but her slippered foot did barely more than poke his shin. She withdrew her foot, quickly, eyes wincing in yet more pain. Loki did not move from his spot; he was overcome with curiosity.

“Foolish mortal. Why did you do that?”

“Because I’m pissed off,” she snapped. He watched her grip her foot, squeezing her fingers over her toes.

“Oh?”

“You _broke_ my shoulder. Yet another thing to add -” she took a quick intake of breath, letting go of her foot. “-To your list of transgressions.”

Loki chuckled without any real feeling, and stood. “I’ll let you keep the broken toe or two as a reminder of what happens when you act on impulse.”

Jane shot him a nasty look.

“Where’s Thor?”

His mouth twitched. “Midgard.”

She scrambled to her feet, slowly, backing away from Loki.

“ _What_?”

“Did I stutter?”

“You’re - you’re lying,” she said quickly. “There’s no way he’d leave me here.”

Loki smiled, advancing toward her, slightly relishing in his moment of control. She took another step back, bumping up against the bed.

“He wouldn’t, you are correct. But he does not believe you to be here.”

Jane’s hand flew up to cover her mouth, her eyes full of nothing but terror. Loki stopped some four feet away from her and put his hands behind his back, smiling serenely.

“You’re a fool to think that Thor would be fooled so easily,” Jane said.

He smirked at her and her eyes widened slightly at the sight. He knew what he looked like - wild, feral. An animal, perhaps; but his voice came out as warm as honey in his reply.

“Am I, Jane? Thor _has_ been fooled. He is gone. I told him you had doubts, you see. I told him that you no longer wished to conduct the test and you _so_ wished for home again. He barely had time to register my words before he flew in a rage to the Bifrost, and back to Midgard.”

“ _You_? You told him that and he _believed_ you?”

Loki did not drop his smirk at her question. In a flash of green light, she was no longer looking at Loki as himself, but as Odin - and her mouth opened, a semblance of a gasp, but no sound actually came out. 

“N-no -” she sputtered, and she felt her way around the bed to back up some more, but Loki continued to corner her until there was nowhere else left to go. She bumped painfully into the night stand. “This isn’t happening. I’m dreaming - I _have_ to be dreaming.”

“Fate is not that kind,” he said, and assumed his own form again. A pained look crossed her face at the sight; she looked away from him, to somewhere behind him. A pregnant silence followed, and Loki waited.

“What’s going to happen to me?” she whispered finally. “What do you want from me?”

Loki laughed sharply. “I don’t _want_ anything from you, stupid girl. This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t been sneaking around in the first place.”

Her eyes snapped to meet his; her mouth opened and her response came out rushed – a feeble attempt to explain herself. “ _You_ told me to explore!”

“I did _not_ tell you to enter rooms uninvited! Is Midgard _that_ uncivilized? Actually - you need not answer that question. I fear for the answer.”

“I couldn’t sleep! I was just…” her eyes shut, and then opened again - too long for a blink. “I heard a strange noise - actually. I wasn’t sure what it was…” she trailed off, her face screwed up in concentration, eyes distant. “Something just told me I should see what it was.”

Loki rolled his eyes then, not caring to be dignified. He turned on his heel, not wanting to look at her anymore. _Stupid, idiotic mortals. No wonder they don’t live for long_ , he thought impulsively. _She gets no less than she deserves_.

“You are to stay here until I decide what to do with you,” he found himself saying. He turned again, regarding her reaction; but she stood as still as a statue.

“Thor will come back,” she said loudly. “He isn’t stupid. He’ll realize soon that I’m not there. SHIELD tracks atmospheric disturbances, now. They’ll know.”

“That is where you are wrong - Thor _is_ stupid,” Loki snapped. “And even if by chance he grows tired of his hunt, or your precious band of mortals figure it out, the Bifrost will not be open to him.”

“How could you _do_ this?” Jane cried. “He’s your _brother_!”

In a swift movement, Loki closed the distance between them and his hand gripped her face, hard. She made a weak sound - something like a gasp - but he didn’t care. 

“Thor _Odinson_ is _not_ my brother,” he whispered dangerously. “You would be wise to remember it.”

He let go of her face and her hand shot up to touch it; she was wincing again. But her eyes did not show defeat, and Loki did not move from his spot.

“You’re such a child,” she said, but her words held no bite. “Thor told me what happened between you two.” She fell silent, and Loki stared at her, daring her to continue speaking. She met his eyes, then, and said softly, “In spite of all you’ve done…I pity you.”

Loki’s hand shot through the air like a whip; he slapped her across the face, but not with all of his strength. Despite it, Jane’s head snapped to the side and she fell to her knees, her breathing quickening and rabid. Her lip was bleeding, and she gingerly raised her hand to touch it.

There was a strange, still silence in the room then - and he stood there, rooted to his spot, unable to comprehend what he just did and why he had done it. Three times now he had physically harmed her, when he had never intended to do it at all. It was then that he stepped back, slowly, staring at Jane on the floor. She was crying, now; not loudly, but to Loki she may as well have been screaming. He was torn between annoyance at her weakness and shame for striking a defenseless woman. He rather wondered when he had grown so _soft_.

And she whispered, “You’re a monster.”

With her words, Loki could only stare. He did not say anything in return. He watched her cry, but truth be told, all of this seemed rather anti-climatic to him. What she said was nothing, really. If anything, it was a win. _Let her think that_ , he suddenly thought quite viciously, and stood as tall and proud as he could, pushing all doubts aside. _Let her fear me, if she wants_.

She had served her purpose - not entirely to plan, he admitted, but still - Thor was back on Midgard and Loki was free to rule. He could keep her here, indefinitely. It would be simple. It was a victory.

_A small victory_ , he couldn’t help but thinking. Because even though she had ended up giving Loki exactly what he had wanted, he couldn’t help but wonder why it didn’t feel like it at all.

()()()


	9. Chapter Nine

“Magic becomes art when it has nothing to hide.” - Ben Okri

()()()

Chapter Nine

()()()

“Allfather. I was beginning to wonder when you’d come.”

Loki strolled into the Bifrost observatory slowly, his eyes glued to Heimdall’s back. Asgard’s night sky contrasted starkly to the golden hue of the dome, but Loki could not be distracted. He approached Heimdall carefully.

“And now I am here.”

Loki’s words felt heavy; although he was delivering them as Odin in light of losing Thor once more, he said them with all the density that he would himself. He looked at the hand holding Gungnir until his vision went fuzzy. And then he looked to Heimdall.

“Thor is once more on Midgard,” Heimdall said clearly.

“I know.”

Loki turned away from Heimdall to regard the heavens - but closed his eyes soon after. The expanse of space held no comfort for him; his heart felt oddly burdened. He thought of Jane, then. He thought of her words.

_In spite of all you’ve done…I pity you._

“You used the Tesseract to send her back?” 

Loki opened his eyes and looked sharply at Heimdall. 

“I did.”

“I cannot see her.”

At Heimdall’s words, Loki’s mouth dried; his heart fluttered. 

“How can you not? Is it an after-effect of the Tesseract?” 

“I fear that I do not know.”

Loki regarded Heimdall carefully. His face was as always unchanging; his eyes held no insight to his true feelings. Loki felt rather irritated that he could not decipher anything Heimdall said. But after a moment of consideration, he decided that if Heimdall had any idea who he really was, Loki would certainly know it by now.

“None of this went as planned,” Loki said gravely. 

“Things rarely do.”

“What is Thor doing now?”

Silence, while Heimdall looked. And then -

“He speaks to some of Midgard’s heroes, in a tall building seemingly made of glass. The metal man and the soldier.” 

Loki turned away from him and walked toward the golden sword that controlled the Bifrost. He regarded it, for a moment. He thought of Jane’s words, earlier - _Thor will come back._

“If Thor asks you to open the Bifrost…” 

Loki heard a noise - the faintest rustle. He looked to see Heimdall watching him, looking at him fully. His face was forever a mask, but he could swear he could see trepidation there.

“My King?”

“Ignore him.”

Heimdall did not answer immediately, and Loki let out a breath he did not even realize he was holding. He had expected something more than this - but realized that he was receiving no less than what the Allfather would get. Nobody dared question him. And Heimdall was no different, really.

“Of course, Allfather. Your word is my command.”

Loki kept his eyes locked on Heimdall’s for too long. They stared at each other in silence until Loki began to feel quite fitful - and he broke his gaze, slowly. 

“I have things to sort out…and sadly, Thor’s presence would only make it worse,” he finally said, his voice low. He wondered what Thor had said to Heimdall before he went back to Midgard - if he even explained. And then Loki realized that it did not matter. His word was reality - law. If Odin could do it, then he could too.

“I understand.”

Heimdall’s tone of voice held no empathy; no concern. Loki shot him one last look and turned away, leaving the observatory without another word. If Heimdall suspected anything of him, Loki could not see it. And that was enough for him.

()()()

For the next few days, Loki did not speak to Jane. 

He entered her room (always in his own form, for what was the point in pretending?) in the quiet of the morning before the sun even thought to rise and left her breakfast. He was thoughtful enough to leave her sustainable things that would hold her throughout the day - fruits, pastries, juice. After supper he would return again and leave her an evening meal. Twice a day for four days he did this, and never once did he speak.

Of course, when he entered the first morning she was asleep in bed; his entry had awoken her and she cried out in surprise. His careful eye had not missed the hearty bruise on her cheek nor the cut on her lip. His stomach twisted oddly as he left the tray at the small table by the window, and he left as quickly as he came. 

For supper, she was always awake. The first evening, she was reading a book. Loki did not ask her where she got it or what she was reading. He knew the many guest chambers of the palace had an assortment of things within them. Her eyes had flicked to him like a moth to a flame when he entered, but she did not speak, nor did he. Once again, his eyes uncomfortably took in the bruise on her face. That he hated most of all; it was a sickly purple and yellow color and looked quite painful.

Guilt. It was such a foreign feeling, and Loki could not remember ever truly feeling it. He had felt the breath of it, maybe; like a faint stirring breeze on the back of his neck when Odin had banned Thor to Midgard. He had remembered, faintly, a lesson he had taken with Thor in the gardens with a tutor he could not name - he only remembered his blond hair pulled back into a neat tail at the base of his neck. The tutor was discussing with them the importance of opposites: _For there is no thing in all creation that can exist without its opposite. It is dark that defines light, pain that gives meaning to pleasure, absence that makes presence knowable._

And Thor’s response was most likely the most insightful and eloquent thing he had ever said - _Then so too must the opposite be true. If dark truly defines light, light must needs define dark._

On that fateful day, as Loki watched Thor stripped of his power and thrown to Midgard, there was only one dull, aching thought that crossed his mind. Even in the aftermath of watching his own flesh turn blue instead of black from the touch of a Jötunn, he could only wonder long after the Bifrost had quieted and he had returned to the palace: _What am I without Thor?_

Thor was all he had known since the beginning of time. He was his light to the dark; he was the sun to his moon. And Loki felt the most gripping sense of loss that it was no longer. He refused to call it grief. It was only loss, and loss was all he knew.

But when he looked upon Jane’s face as he left her dinner, it was not loss he felt, no. He knew he could easily justify it as such; for it was indeed a loss of control that caused the bruise and cut lip and even the darkening under her eyes from tormented sleep. He knew that no matter what shape he took or how many healing stones he used, she would forever have her memories of this fateful trip to Asgard.

On the fifth day, Loki brought her supper, as always. He stepped into the room and Jane was sitting against the frame of the bed, on the cold stone floor. The image made him think rather abruptly of the pose Odin was always in when he visited, and Loki averted his gaze and placed the tray on the table, his motions quick and controlled. He was almost to the door, when she spoke.

“Wait.”

Loki stiffened at the sound of her voice. It was quiet, hoarse. He wondered if was from lack of use or something else.

And so he turned, meeting her gaze - and when his eyes met hers she looked away as if she’d been burned. Her eyes settled on his chest as she opened her mouth to speak again.

“What’s going to happen to me?”

Loki took a step forward, testing the boundaries. She didn’t move, but he didn’t advance any further. 

“Nothing is going to happen to you.”

Jane knit her brow as if he had suddenly switched to a language she didn’t understand. She began twisting her hands in her lap, her eyes flicking up to meet his.

He saw the desolation on her face. It was clear that confinement did not well suit her. He thought of his own imprisonment upon his return from Midgard. The days that were seemingly endless inside the room that he could never leave. Not even a universe of books could save one completely from ennui, and his mouth twitched as he took another step toward her.

She visibly flinched as his foot hit the ground. His eyebrows raised slightly at her reaction. He knew she feared him, and suddenly he wished that it was not so.

“Tell me Jane,” Loki said suddenly, watching her, “What of the stars has Thor yet shown you?”

He kept his tone conversational, but he knew his question held much more weight than just that. Jane stared at him, keeping her face deceptively neutral. Loki silently commended her for her efforts; it was more than he had expected of her. She was silent for so long that he began to think she would not answer him, and he grew impatient. He crossed his arms, and stood to full height, but Jane did not move nor did she speak. 

“It would not do well for you to ignore me,” Loki said, his voice darkening and he knew he was crossing quickly to anger. “You will answer my question.”

She snapped her head up to look at him, her eyes taking in his full height. With a strange pang, he saw a flicker of fear there. He tried to soften his gaze and sighed quietly.

Her voice was hard and clipped. “Thor has shown me nothing.”

“What a pity,” he said. “I would have thought with your thirst for knowledge, Thor would have been glad to oblige.” 

“I…” Jane paused, biting her lip. Loki cocked his head at the simple motion, but knew it for what it was. She was nervous, and uncertain about revealing the information he knew she would give up anyway. “I haven’t asked him to.”

Truly, this was a surprise. Loki uncrossed his arms and clapped his hands together, barely attempting to conceal his glee at her statement. Jane watched him without emotion.

“This is truly an interesting turn of events.”

Loki knelt down, allowing himself to be eye-level with Jane. He knew she despised his closeness, but still, she did not move. He admired her courage despite himself. He could now easily see just what made Thor go wild with anger at the idea of losing her.

And then she asked, “Why the sudden interest?” 

Despite her resolution, he felt that her tone sounded a little deflated. He decided then to give her a little something to perk her up. It was a simple task, but all the same, he hesitated for a moment at the intimacy of it. It had been such a long time since he had done this.

“I would show you something, Jane,” Loki said slowly. “A gift, if you will.”

She eyed him suspiciously, and he once again regarded her cut lip and bruised cheek. Perhaps he would double the gift, then.

“I’ll have to decline.”

Loki laughed, mockingly laying a hand over his heart. “You wound me. You have not yet heard what it is that I offer.”

“I don’t have to. I don’t want _anything_ from you.”

Her tone was biting, and Loki missed a beat at the sheer loathing in it. But he did not allow his expression to slip, and even forced a small smile on his lips. 

“What if I offer you a tour of the cosmos?”

Jane’s eyes flashed at his words, and she looked him fully in the eye. He knew he would not have to give her all details immediately; that just the hint of it would be enough to shift her mind. And he was right. Her brow furrowed, and she looked torn.

“What…exactly do you mean?”

“My only skills do not lie in deception and shape-shifting,” Loki replied, softly. “I can show you the stars. I can show you any of the realms you wish to see, straight from the depths of my memory. I can do this right here, if so you desire.”

Jane’s face paled. Loki did not break eye contact; he did not smile or move or scarcely breathe. 

“How?” she finally asked.

“If you would allow it,” he said, “I will show you.”

He knew he had her, then. He watched her mouth open, but heard no air come out. He saw her eyes widen, but only just. He knew she was battling with herself, and this absolutely delighted him. It was the most stimulating conversation he had had in months.

“Does it hurt?” Jane asked after some time. 

Loki considered her question. Certainly it was not one that had been asked before. He tried to remember all of the times he had ever done this, and remembered the startling feeling of sharing a memory with someone else. The feeling of allowing them to see what his mind held. If he was careful, it would not hurt very much. The only reason it ever would is if she ventured too far away from what he was trying to show her. Loki regarded her then, her pale face and scared eyes. He knew she was curious by nature, and so he chose his answer wisely.

“If you focus only on what I show, it will not hurt at all. It might feel uncomfortable at first, but I trust you will be too engrossed in the vision to truly notice.”

Jane looked as if she had a hundred questions to ask, but to his surprise, she did not ask any of them. She looked as if she was bracing herself for something, she closed her eyes momentarily and then opened them, looking at his face but now without fear.

“Show me Álfheim.”

Loki felt a little startled at her choice. Truly, she had done some reading: Álfheim was one of those realms not often talked about. Loki inclined his head, and sat fully on the floor criss-crossed, and bid Jane to do the same.

Jane hesitated only slightly; apparently her thirst for this vision was too strong. She settled into place, and he moved up until their knees were less than an inch apart. He thought how very poetic all of this was - while Thor fitfully searched for his mortal lady-love on Midgard, the woman in question was right in front of Loki, willingly following his command, despite everything that had transpired. He took a deep breath and concentrated. There would be no need for stray emotion to come into this meeting; he wanted only to show her what she desired and nothing more. It was very important that she saw nothing more.

Loki leaned forward and raised his hands, and as he touched the tips of his fingers to her temples, he thought the flinching look she gave him as his skin met hers would surely haunt his dreams.

Sharing a memory with someone was such a small feat. It required next to no energy and as long as one had control, it could almost never go wrong. It was one of the first things he learned as a child seeking magic; he had done this dozens, if not thousands of times. But he was not quite prepared to feel Jane’s conscious melding with his, not really. He tried to ignore her emotions as he produced the image of Álfheim that he had chosen for this meeting.

He showed her his recollection of the Festival of Grímnismál; it always takes place on the longest day of the year - on Álfheim, it spans over sixty Midgard days. He showed her the greenest greens and bluest blues. He showed her the thousands of Álfar in their pristine white tunics and their silver-white hair; he showed her the feasts and dancing and even let her hear the music and laughter and poetry. He felt Jane’s emotion, despite his attempts to block it out. He felt her joy and sorrow and fear and excitement and melancholy and _longing_. And Loki thought then that it was the longing that affected him the most. Usually in a meeting the recipient takes care to hold emotion until it is done, and regardless if they are successful or not, Loki had never let a memory slip because of it.

But he did then: it slipped for a fraction of a second, and for a heart shattering moment, he felt her conscious clash rather terribly with his. It could not be explained, the collision of colors and sounds and visions and _feeling_. It startled him, and he dropped his hands from her head and pushed himself back. 

Neither of them spoke, and Loki felt very stupid for reacting in such a way. He smoothed a stray strand of hair that found its way across his face, and he evened his breathing. Jane was staring at him, and for a moment he wondered if his consciousness had somehow addled her brain. He mused that he wouldn’t be surprised if that had happened.

Silence. Jane was breathing normally, and while she was completely still, he could see her eyes filling with tears. He knit his brow, uncertain of the meaning, and wondered what exactly she saw in that half-second of intrusion. Certainly, he had seen things, but too quickly to really make anything distinct out. As always when dealing with such things, there was always a danger to seeing and showing too much.

“Please speak, or I will have to come to the conclusion that I have fried your mind,” Loki finally said, evenly keeping the emotion out.

“You haven’t, I don’t think,” Jane said, weakly. She touched her own hands to her temples, and rubbed them gingerly. She closed her eyes and Loki found himself desperately wanting to know what she saw as she did so. Was she enamored by the vision, or was she imagining something else?

He remained silent, letting her to her thoughts. He realized he was still sitting quite close to her, and began to rise. He thought perhaps it would be best if he left. Perhaps this meeting was a terrible idea and only made things worse - but then she spoke.

“Don’t leave.”

He froze at her words, his ears suddenly ringing from the sound of her voice.

“What?”

“I want you to stay. I want to talk about Álfheim.”

Loki almost flinched. Although her voice was thin, he could not remember the last time someone had _wanted_ his company. Not as Odin, not as Thor’s brother, not as someone to answer for his sins. She had asked him, Loki, to stay; to talk.

“As you wish,” he said gracefully, and resumed his position. He placed his hands on his knees and watched her expectantly. She seemed to falter under his gaze, but then took a steadying breath.

“It was beautiful,” she said quietly, looking down at her own hands in her lap. “I have…never in all my years of theory and science…even after having seen _this_ place - I could have never imagined anything like it.”

Loki continued to watch her. Her eyes shone with such light that he almost felt dull in comparison.

“How can you stand it?” she asked suddenly.

“Stand what?” Loki asked. He had an idea of what she was asking, but was curious to hear how she would word it. She hesitated, then drew her shoulders back and looked at him.

“How can you stand knowing that beyond even this place, there is so much…beauty?”

Loki suddenly became quite interested in the nails of his right hand. He inspected them as if expecting to find an answer there, but could not immediately bring himself to reply. He thought of Thor, of his great force and stunning loyalty, but realized rather anti-climatically that Thor had been doing Jane a terrible disservice. In their two months of uninterrupted elopement, Jane could not bring herself to ask Thor to take her where she most wanted to go. Loki felt a strange sense of emptiness at the thought. 

“I would reply with a question,” Loki said, “How did you do it yourself? You knew there was something more. You sought it so desperately.” He left out the bit that he had seen all of this through her mentor Erik Selvig’s mind while under his mind-spell. “And when you had Thor at your feet, still you did not ask him to take you. He would have gladly given you a tour of the heavens you admired so.”

Jane’s face changed; she looked pained. Loki watched with interest. He wondered if he had angered her, but realized that it did not matter. 

“I don’t have an answer for you,” she finally said. 

He sensed her lie. _It is impossible to deceive the deceiver_ , he thought. But he did not press it.

“Of course,” he replied, softly. 

“Can you explain what that was?” Jane asked, gesturing at her temple.

“That was…what Asir call a ‘meeting’,” Loki said. “It is the art of blending one conscious to another to present an image - usually a memory. It can be quite useful.”

Jane nodded, looking away from his face, her eyes trailing down his chest and landing on his hand. He looked at it himself, wondering if she saw something there, but could not see what she saw. 

“Can…Thor do that?”

She asked it so quietly, he had to tell himself that it was not his imagination. He felt almost guilty at the tone of her voice; it was his rage that had caused it. He once again felt astounded that she was willingly in his company at all. He looked at her strong face, high cheekbones. Her brown hair and pointed nose. She really was beautiful, in a subjective standpoint. Truly she held none of the grace of the women of Asgard, but he knew all too well that Asgardian standards of beauty were not the only ones. 

“He cannot.”

“Did he not want to learn?”

“Thor does not have the capacity for magic.”

Loki meant it to come out simply, but he knew it did not; he heard the bitterness in his voice. Jane flinched as if he had slapped her again, and for a moment, Loki was brought back to the moment when it had happened.

_You’re a monster._

“Jane,” he said, trying to calm his breath. He willed himself to speak, yet could not find the words in him to come forth. He thought he might apologize, but it was tricky. Apologies were just words, but he could not remember on many occasions when he had uttered the phrase ‘I’m sorry’ and actually meant it. It would be easy to say it now, it would be easy to say it and be done with it; perhaps Jane would even forgive him for it.

_But that’s just it, isn’t it_? Loki thought. He knew she was forgiving, even after he had imprisoned her. Harmed her. For some ridiculous, insane reason, she had allowed him to share his memory with her, although he knew it was simply her thirst for knowledge that had won out in the end.

“I saw your mind,” Jane said suddenly, and Loki stiffened. “I saw the pain. The sadness.”

Her words cut him sharply, and he met her eye.

“Stop,” he began, “Do not-”

“I saw your _heart_ , I think,” she continued, as if he hadn’t spoken at all. “And you were right. It _did_ hurt.”

Loki forced himself up. A bad idea it was, indeed. He did not touch her. He did not say goodbye. He simply walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

()()()

 

_AN: The bit about the tutor, specifically the quotes: "For there is no thing in all creation that can exist without its opposite. It is dark that defines light, pain that gives meaning to pleasure, absence that makes presence knowable" and "Then so too must the opposite be true. If dark truly defines light, light must needs define dark" is property of Robert Rodi, who wrote a four part Loki mini-series for Marvel - if you wanna see a super nasty side of Loki, give it a look if you can find it. I won't often combine comics AND movies together, but those lines were too good to pass up the chance._


	10. Chapter Ten

“Now, God be praised, that to believing souls gives light in darkness, comfort in despair.” - William Shakespeare

()()()

Chapter Ten

()()()

Thor’s feet had barely touched the ground before he knew that something was wrong.

The Bifrost had sent him to New Mexico, he knew. He looked around the desert, his heart heavy from the frantic exchange between him and his father - and he looked to the sky, its blinding, untouched blue burning his eyes. He looked to his hand, gripping Mjölnir, ready to take flight toward the direction of the town he and Jane had been residing. But something felt off, and he knew not what. 

The world out here was quiet; far quieter than he would have believed on a realm such as this with all their metal and exhaust and blaring machinery. Jane liked it out here, and so did he. 

His cape fluttered as he turned in his spot, thinking quickly. His father had used the Tesseract to send Jane to Midgard, but did his father know where to send her? Thor terribly misliked the idea of Jane transporting with the cube - if he did not know any better, he would call the Tesseract something like pure evil. He remembered what it did to his brother.

Thor closed his eyes, quickly, and then opened them, his hand already swinging his hammer with speed and precision. He barely had time to register that he was in flight before he was already in the sky.

()()()

“Tony, my friend, I fear I have a problem.”

Thor’s words registered on Tony’s face in less time than Thor would have thought. Tony blinked once, then twice, and then lowered his hands to his sides. 

“Well then…by all means, come inside.”

Thor followed him in, regarding the dim lighting in the open room. He did not loosen his grip on Mjölnir, and he watched Tony walk behind the bar. Thor heard the clinking of glass and the pouring of liquid, and he stood in the middle of the room, noticing the not-subtle hole in the ground.

“Is that…?” 

“I assume you’re talking about the pit in my floor. I’m quite fond of it, actually. I’ve taken to telling people that my floor got Loki’d.”

Thor knit his brow at the strange statement, but didn’t press it further. Tony handed him a short glass full of amber liquid, and Thor shot it back in one gulp. It was quite smooth.

“I’m afraid I don’t have time for much small talk.”

“Right - problem. What is it?”

Tony leaned against the bar, swirling the drink around in his hand. He checked his watch quickly, and frowned.

“Hold that thought - Steve is supposed to be here any minute. Or is it something that can’t wait?”

Thor pressed his mouth in a thin line, his patience wearing thin. 

“Jane is missing.”

Tony set his drink down on the bar, and he took a step forward.

“How do you mean?”

Suddenly, Thor heard a strange voice in the room, from somewhere beyond him.

“Sir, Captain Rogers is riding up.”

“Thanks, Jarvis.”

Thor crossed his arms, Mjölnir left at his side. He wished he had something to do with the burning sense of urgency within him. He almost felt it would almost have been quicker to search the corners of the realm than to have come here - but he knew Tony had computers, and the ability to find the anomalies in the atmosphere that would certainly find where the Tesseract sent Jane. He tried to be patient for that simple fact. But it was desperately difficult.

He heard a quiet _ding_ , and metal doors slid open to reveal Steve. He was not wearing his blue suit.

“Thor? What a surprise!” Steve said, and strode over to shake hands. Thor did so, hastily, before lowering his hand.

“I’m afraid I did not come here for pleasantries,” Thor said gruffly. Tony cleared his throat and looked between the two men uneasily.

“Our favorite Asgardian is missing something.”

Thor clicked his tongue, growing more than impatient with Tony’s jests. 

“ _Jane_ is missing. My father sent for us to go to Asgard -”

“Okay, what?”

His face reddened slightly at the interruption from Tony and Thor met his eye.

“What?” Thor said quickly.

“Your father, the king, sent for you and Jane to go to Asgard.”

Steve shuffled on his feet nervously, his eyes darting between the two.

“I do hail from there, so yes, at times it would only be obvious that I visit,” Thor said testily.

“And why did he want you to take the trip? I get the feeling it was not a family reunion,” Tony said, picking up his drink again.

Thor sighed, realizing he was not going to get out of explaining the story.

“I would that we sat, for this. It is not a short tale.”

Tony gestured toward the sitting area, and the three men walked and sat; Thor on a sofa to himself and Steve and Tony across from him. Thor sat awkwardly - the couch was overly plush and he felt the weight of his armor sink him too far down. After too long of a silence, Tony cleared his throat again, taking a sip of his drink.

“You were saying?”

“Some few days ago, Lady Sif came to us through the Bifrost with a message that my father would that Jane and I traveled to Asgard. He wished for Jane to take the test.”

Thor paused, knowing that Tony would have questions. He was not wrong.

“What’s ‘the test’?”

And then Thor sighed, rubbing his temples for a moment. He felt a sharp aching there, and took a moment to collect himself before answering.

“The test is…it is a test of strength. Mental strength. My father’s father created it, I think. Or so the stories say. It is a room that one goes in for an hour; within it resides an ancient magic that reacts to the individual. If one passes…one is granted the Golden Apples. Immortality.” 

“Hmm…okay. And what is the test?” Tony asked again, and Thor met his eye.

“It is arbitrary. I…personally believe that it is a test of fear. Within the hour, if you do not call out for help, you pass.”

Tony let out a low whistle. 

“That sounds awful,” Steve said quietly. “Did Jane…do it?”

“No. We were only there for a few days, and she had not decided. And then this morning I awoke to an Einherjar knocking at my door, telling me that Jane had activated the Tesseract.”

Tony sat straight up at that, his drink nearly spilling over.

“ _What_?”

“I went to my father on the throne. He said that she had not activated the Tesseract; that it was actually he. He said she had decided to not perform the test and that she wished for home. And so he sent her here, by way of the cube.”

“Is this a joke? Why didn’t he just use the other way? The Bifrost?” Tony asked.

“I would that I knew, Tony,” Thor replied, his voice low and full of discontent. “I do not try to understand all of my father’s actions, but this one is by far the most puzzling. In fact, if I were daring, I would say that he was not quite himself the entire time we were there.”

And as soon as Thor said the words, he knew them to be true. He looked down at his knees again, a safe spot to brood. He had not truly wanted to believe it, but now that he had said it… He lowered his head again, staring at his armored knees. The world appeared to be spinning, but he knew it was only because he was taking huge, uneven breaths. He looked up at Tony, and then at Steve, waiting for a reply. But he knew that they could offer him no comfort. They had never met his father, the king. They had not seen the way he had calmly sat upon the throne, watching Thor become beside himself with emotion. His father was many things - but uncaring was not one of them.

He thought of Loki, then. The day they had returned from Midgard. It had not particularly pleased Thor to see him in chains, to see him so carelessly _uninterested_ in his fate. It was terribly unlike him - and Thor had to remind himself that day that the brother he had was gone. Gone since the day he fell from the Bifrost; quite possibly even before. And when Loki had turned around and done the unimaginable - he _saved_ Jane. He saved her twice, for no reasons that Thor could name. Loki had almost died from the strange Svartalf weapon - and then Thor thought rather painfully that Loki _had_ died.

But no, it was not a train of thought that Thor wished to pursue. Not here, with Steve and Tony staring at him so attentively. Thor raised his eyes to meet theirs again, and found them watching him uneasily.

“SHIELD tracks the atmosphere, correct?” Thor asked then, remembering why he was there.

Tony shifted in his seat, shooting a glance at Steve.

“They do.”

“Have you received any word about any today?”

“Nope. Actually - I don’t keep in much contact with them since New York.”

Tony knit his brow, realizing what he meant. He sighed then, and rose. 

“If you have no way of telling me what I wish to know, then I am afraid that this is where we must part ways.”

Tony rose, too, and held his hand up.

“Now wait, big guy. I said we don’t keep in much contact - but that doesn’t mean that I can’t find things out.” He gestured Steve to stand up, and shot another glance at Thor. “Give me a few minutes. I’ll find out what you need to know.”

Thor’s throat felt dry, and he swallowed heavily before opening his mouth to speak again. 

“I have one last thing to say.”

Tony raised an eyebrow.

“In the Bifrost, before Heimdall sent me back…” Thor trailed off, fingering the handle of Mjölnir. His heart felt unnaturally heavy then. “Heimdall told me that he couldn’t see Jane.”

It was not Tony who spoke, but Steve. “I thought Heimdall could see everything?”

There was a slight pause in the room; Tony regarded Steve with an appraising look and Steve shrugged. “What?” he asked, looking sheepish. “I _do_ know how to read.”

“You are correct. He can usually see everything. My brother Loki was capable of cloaking himself from Heimdall’s eye when he wished; and save Malekith, nobody else has been able to do so. But this is different. Loki is…gone. Jane is here on Midgard, somewhere, but for some reason, Heimdall can’t see her.”

True silence, then. So quiet, that Thor could hear his own heart in his ears, and he wished desperately for someone to speak.

“Well then. I’ll do some hacking, and let you know where the cube-o-death sent Jane.”

Thor nodded curtly at Tony’s words, and felt Steve’s hand on his forearm, gripping it tightly.

“We’ll find her. Don’t worry.”

“I thank you for your sentiment,” Thor said. 

He pulled away and walked to the window; planes of glass from floor to ceiling. He stood there, watching the sun set over the largest city he had ever seen. He looked to the sky, hoping for some semblance of star or moon, but could see nothing. The lights from the city obstructed them all, and Thor suddenly felt so terribly lonely. There were many times when he wished he had his brother to ease the storm within him; certainly he had done it hundreds, if not thousands of times before. This day was no exception. Loki always knew what to do - and Thor rather felt that he was missing a huge, important part of him with each day that passed without Loki. 

Thor was not blind to Loki’s misdeeds; they were impossible to ignore. But sometimes Thor felt it was much easier to forgive and move on than hold a grudge until the end of time. He thought of Loki’s anger, then - that day in the Bifrost when Loki had implored Thor to fight him.

_I am not your brother. I never was._

How that had pained him - how the thin layer of tears that covered Loki’s eyes had wounded him. And it wasn’t until after Loki had fallen that Thor found out what he truly meant by those words.

_Frost Giant. Jötunn._ It mattered not to Thor, not really. Initially, it had been a shock. Naturally. But Thor found it impossible to truly think of Loki and associate him with the monsters that hailed from that cold, icy realm…

“Bingo.”

Thor turned at the sound of Tony’s voice, and he saw him at the bar with a silver, thin machine. _Laptop_ , Thor’s memory supplied, coupled by Jane’s giggle. He blinked away the ghost of sound and walked to watch what Tony was doing.

“Did you find her?” Thor asked.

“Not quite - but my hacking skills have improved. I’m in the database.”

Thor looked at the screen, but did not understand the numbers that seemingly had no end. Steve was watching the computer, too, his eyes scanning it with a look of slight interest. Thor wondered if Steve understood it, either.

“Uh - yup. Here we go…I see the day your Lady Sif touched down, as well as the trip after.” Tony’s fingers tapped on the machine, and then he made an odd noise - a quick intake of breath through his teeth, as if he were suddenly in pain.

“What is it?” Thor pressed.

“Well, it looks like SHIELD detected an atmospheric disturbance unlike they had seen in awhile. Same readings as when Loki beamed himself into the facility before he went happy with his mind-control stick and stole the cube. Doesn’t look like they’ve investigated it, yet. But there’s a slight problem with the readings…”

“For Pete’s sake, Tony, tell him,” Steve snapped.

“Alright, sorry. I hope Jane’s dressed warm - if this is right, it shot her some fifty miles north of Fairbanks, Alaska.”

It was Steve who let out a whistle then - and Thor blinked. 

“Is that far?”

“Well, yes. Quite. Also, it’s February. It’s cold.”

“How cold is cold?” Thor pressed, gripping Mjölnir. He misliked Tony’s tone.

Tony pulled up a colorful image on the computer, and after some taps with his fingers, showed Thor the screen.

“Minus twenty-seven degrees, cold.”

Steve’s eyes widened, and he spoke, his voice firm.

“I’ll suit up.”

()()()

And so they flew. Thor held Steve through the skies as he and Tony in his iron suit blasted through the heavens, quickly and with purpose. Tony was leading, because Thor knew not where to go.

He did not quite understand the land to which they flew - but at Tony’s words, and Steve’s quick assessment that _suiting up_ was necessary, Thor grew nervous. And full of dread. He wondered if Jane was alright - if perhaps she had found shelter. He remembered Jötunheim, its icy winds and empty caverns that held nothing but cold. He wondered if this Alaska was anything like that - and he feared for Jane if it was so.

They flew for what felt like hours - and maybe it was. Tony’s suit did not go nearly as quick as Thor was capable. If he was not relying on him for direction, he would have surely passed him long ago. 

And after what felt like an age, and Thor’s face was thoroughly numbed from the wind and yes, a decidedly chiller air than that of New York, Tony began to lose altitude. Thor followed suit, and he allowed himself to look down.

It was unnerving. What he knew of Midgard did not add up to the vision beneath him. The stretch of land was black - so black he wondered if they were falling into an abyss. But no, that was not right. Because Thor saw a stretch of light, thin and scattered, but below it, and above it, was nothing. Nothing that his eye could make out - and as they landed, they did not go for the stretch of light at all. Thor’s stomach gave an uncomfortable lurch at the fact that they were landing in the dark unknown, and he called to Tony.

“Are you sure that this is correct?”

Tony’s tinny voice from his suit answered. “Positive. Brace yourself - most of this land is completely inhabited. We’re looking at minus thirty-nine degrees now.”

Thor swallowed, not particularly understanding what he meant. He was not unfamiliar with the term _degrees_ , but not in such negative digits. He remembered Jane talking about the past few months in New Mexico - being uncommonly cold for the area. But never had he experienced this, and it was beyond frustrating to him that he had nothing to compare it to.

And finally, Thor’s eyes began to make out shapes on the ground - snow capped trees, unmoving; and not even that he could see was there a clearing for them to land. He clutched Steve closer to him - to avoid getting scrapped by the branches as they fell.

Tony went first, and shortly after he had disappeared underneath the tree line, Thor followed suit.

On the forest floor, soft ground met Thor’s feet and he let Steve go, his arms feeling almost numb after holding him for so long. He shook them out, and took a deep breath.

It was uncomfortable - sharp needles of cold stabbed his throat, dully, spreading into his lungs. His breath came out in a huge puff and he looked at Tony.

“This is where Jane landed?”

“Approximately. We’ll go to the site on foot.”

Thor cast a glance around - but it was so dark he could not make out much beyond the dense patch of trees they were in. He looked up, but all he could see was snow and more trees. 

They walked, for a time. Several minutes passed and all Thor could hear was the sound of his own breaths coming out in quick bursts - certainly, this cold was not the same as Jötunheim, and the world was far too still to remind him of such, but he felt its affects all the same. He looked to Steve, who was watching his footing - the snow was quite deep, nearly halfway to his knees. 

Thor heard a crack in the distance, and his hand gripped Mjölnir in anticipation. Tony’s metal head snapped to the source of the sound, and the three stopped walking to see what it was that made it.

His eyes squinted in the dark, and he saw some thirty paces ahead a movement and a flash of brown - Thor grabbed Mjölnir fully, now, but Steve put his hand over Thor’s arm.

“I think that’s a moose,” Steve said quietly. His voice held a sort of awe that Thor could not place.

Thor knew not what a _moose_ was, but it walked again, its huge form coming fully into vision. It regarded them for a moment, and then turned its attention to the tree it was standing next to, raising its graceful head to chew on the branches. It was taller than Thor, even Tony himself in his suit, and Thor stared at the creature for a moment. 

“Is it hostile?”

“Uh - can be,” Tony replied, raising his arm. “Let’s scare it off so we don’t have to deal with it.”

“No, don’t. Let’s just go around it,” Steve said. “We _really_ don’t want to tick the locals off.”

Thor clicked his tongue impatiently, placing his hammer back at his waist. He did not quite understand the jargon, and did not wish to stand here a moment longer. He was eager to find Jane, and even more eager to leave this place - its stillness and cold was unnatural to him.

He backtracked and walked around the creature, giving it plenty of distance. Tony and Steve began to follow - and Tony walked around to lead them again. 

“We’re coming right up on the site,” Tony said then. Thor looked ahead but could not see anything.

And finally, Thor stopped because they walked into an unnatural clearing - the trees were bent around it in a strange circular pattern, and at Thor’s feet, he saw a black, perfect circle where the snow should be.

Nobody moved, for a moment. He looked at the black circle for a minute, and then let his eyes scan its edge, all around until he landed at his own feet. There were no snow tracks; in fact, there was nothing there at all that gave any evidence that anybody had been here.

“I don’t understand,” Thor said numbly.

“No tracks…” Tony said then, and bent down to inspect the imprint. He dropped his hand to it, and pulled it up, looking closely at it. “The snow melted there. Looks like it’s just dirt and underbrush there.”

“But this means…” Steve began, and he looked around the small clearing, as if the answer was elsewhere. 

But Thor knew there were no answers to be found in this place. Jane had not landed here - and he felt a burst of anger shoot through his entire being, and before he realized what he was doing, Mjölnir was in his hand, and he raised it to the sky -

“Woah, don’t even think about it. Lightning storm in a _forest_?” Tony shot at him.

Thor felt the energy in his veins, the cackling that longed for release. But he lowered his hammer, slowly, with difficulty. 

“Jane’s not here,” he said in a hard, clipped voice. “My father never sent her here at all.”

“Looks like it. Let me scan for lifeforms within the mile.”

But Thor knew that Tony wouldn’t find anything of import. He stood in the center of the circle, and looked to the sky. Such an unnatural sky, it was, he noticed - it shone green and pink and purple and it _swirled_ -

“Heimdall! Open the Bifrost!”

He waited then for the grip of the Bifrost, but it did not come. Thor stood there rather dumbly for a moment, before he shot a glance at Steve and Tony, who simply stood there watching him. Thor let out a growl; a surge of desperation had overcome him. 

“Heimdall! Please, I request that you open the Bifrost! I wish to come home!”

But Heimdall did not answer, and Thor sunk to his knees. Steve and Tony said nothing. His throat was suddenly parched - and his hands twisted in the dirt and leaves and he did not move for quite awhile.

()()()

_Yes, I know this is a considerable change of pace, but I hope you like it just the same. Thanks for much for the bookmarks and comments. They make my day!_


	11. Chapter Eleven

“It is my feeling that Time ripens all things; with Time all things are revealed; Time is the father of truth.” - Francois Rabelais

()()()

Chapter Eleven

()()()

Light trailed from the window of Jane’s room; it cast a lazy, golden hue across the stone floor and across the bed. Loki’s eyes flicked around, from floor to ceiling, not landing on the woman in question. He noticed the tray from breakfast, untouched.

It was quiet here, and he allowed himself to ease his tense shoulders slightly. The only sound to be heard was of his own breathing in his ears. He knew not why he was avoiding the inevitable. He knew not why he was even here at all.

“When you hover like that…it’s creepy.”

Loki’s ears perked at the sound of her voice; it sounded unnaturally loud in such a still setting. He finally allowed himself to look at Jane; she, who he knew was there all along. He knew she was on the bed when he walked in, but he did not want to truly perceive it.

He didn’t answer immediately; he denied to himself that it was more for the effect that silence gave him than the simple fact that he knew not what to say. He regarded her thin frame on the bed - she was dressed in a simple jade dress, and the color she wore was not lost on him. He wondered if she realized exactly what that color meant, and turned his head to look at himself in the full length mirror standing against the wall. He stood tall, his frame softened by his deep green tunic and brown pants. He missed terribly his armor, then; the leather and metal and gold that invoked so much fear on Midgard. But when he cast his eyes on Jane again, he realized that his armor would be for naught, here.

She eased out of the bed, the book she was reading lay open on the duvet. She didn’t look afraid, but her face held he resignation he realized was simply a part of who she was. 

“You didn’t eat?” he asked finally, dropping his gaze and walking slowly over to the small table that bore the tray still full of food. The cut fruit gave off an overly sweet smell that was no longer appetizing, and he lifted his hand to banish it.

“I wasn’t exactly hungry after last night,” she replied bitterly. 

The tray disappeared, and he lowered his hand, the memory of the previous evening terribly fresh in his mind. Loki swallowed heavily.

_I saw your_ heart.

“How do you do that?” Jane asked then, and his eyes found her face. She was staring at the empty table, her brow knit in concentration.

“Magic,” he replied, his mouth twitching its way up into a ghost of a smirk. His response was not what she sought, though, and she stepped closer to him, tentatively, the fabric of her dress whispering at her feet from the movement.

“I realize that,” she said impatiently. “But _how_ does it work?”

Loki looked at her face, truly seeing it. The angry bruise on her cheek had not subsided, and he felt a strange pang of remorse at the sight despite himself. He bit his tongue and took the chair at the table and pulled it out, turning it so it was facing her.

“Sit.”

Jane’s features fell into suspicion, and her eyes darted between the chair and Loki’s face. His hand gripped the frame tightly, waiting for the argument, but she did not give one. She crossed the distance and settled into the seat. He moved around the chair so that he was facing her again, and he leaned toward her, close enough to hear the hitch of her breath.

_She still fears me_ , he thought, and his fingers rested on the bruise, lightly. He remembered his indignation the night he had given it to her, he careless way he had gripped her face in his wild attempt to wield her into subjugation. How he had thought so bitterly that he did not care if she feared him; that it was better that way, even. But he pushed those thoughts from his mind.

“What -”

“I’ll answer your questions, but first I wish to rid your face of his mar,” Loki said softly.

His eyes closed then, his fingers still on her face. He imagined the damage, the broken vessels all the way down to bone. And then his hand stiffened, and when his eyes opened, the bruise was gone.

His actions were not lost on her. He imagined she had felt that bruise every waking moment - perhaps even in sleep she had been somehow aware of its presence. He lowered his hand and her own shot up to feel the place that was suddenly healed. Her eyes widened with shock, and she smiled slightly.

“Thank you.”

His jaw stiffened at the simple phrase, but he said nothing. Instead he raised his hand again to the cut on her lip and healed that, too.

“It is done,” he said, and stood up straight, backing away from her. He walked to the bed and picked up the book she had been reading, but it was simply a copy of the almost ancient Midgardian _The Children of Odin_. His nose twitched in distaste.

“I do hope you’re not taking this to heart,” he said, gesturing his hand toward the book. She laughed slightly and stood, walking over to him and taking the book from his hands, hesitantly, as if expecting him to snatch it back.

“Do you mean to say that you never…” she started, and turned the pages until she found the one she sought. “You never cut Sif’s hair?” 

Loki frowned at that, forgetting that some of the tales held some truth to them. 

He took the book back, reading the tale quickly. When he was finished, he glowered at the book as if it were sentient, capable of balking at his gaze. 

“I’ll admit that yes, I did cut Sif’s hair. But almost none of this tale holds truth beyond that.”

“You _did_?”

Loki looked at Jane then, who was watching him with fascination. His brow knit momentarily, and then he decided to tell it to her in detail. He sat on the edge of the bed, and gestured for her to follow suit.

“I’ll tell you the tale,” he said, and looked at the book again. His throat felt unnaturally tight, and he closed his eyes for a moment, the memory melding into his conscious so perfectly he almost let himself drown in it. Certainly times were much simpler, then. He felt the bed move as it took in Jane’s weight, and he opened his eyes.

“Sif indeed did have golden hair once. This was quite awhile ago, understand. Thor and I had…taken a trip. To Midgard.” The words suddenly felt like ash on his tongue, but he looked at Jane again and saw her watching him with such enthrallment that he trudged on. “We stumbled into a playhouse, I assume. The mortals were putting on a drama crafted by a man named Shakespeare.” 

Jane drew in a breath, and Loki paused to watch her reaction with amusement. But she said nothing, which he assumed was quite a feat for her, and so he continued.

“To put it simply, when we returned, Thor was so inspired by this Shakespeare that he was constantly crafting his own prose. About Sif’s hair. You can imagine how tedious it was.” Loki smirked then, and said, “So I cut it off.”

“You cut it off,” Jane repeated. “Just like that?”

Loki shrugged. “Perhaps you had to have been there to understand. But yes, I did. ‘Just like that’. When Thor found out he was terribly angry. And Odin demanded I return to her what I took. But…he did not say it had to be exactly as it was.”

Jane’s eyes dawned with comprehension, and she had a look on her face that was something in the middle of disdain and amusement.

“So you gave her black hair?”

“When you put it that way, it sounds awfully dull. I hired some Dwarves to craft her hair with threads from the black of night itself. It was a wonderful gesture. I gave her the opposite of what she had - for her hair _was_ as luminous as the light of the sun.”

She stopped short at his reply, her eyes on his, not faltering under his gaze. 

“Why was Thor praising her hair to begin with?”

Loki shifted in his seat slightly, suddenly understanding that Jane did not know much of Thor’s past. He did not smile, but his words held the weight of it.

“Thor and Sif were once betrothed.”

Jane broke eye contact at that; she looked down at her hands in her lap, her hair falling in a thick curtain that hid her face from Loki’s eye. He waited for her words, but none came.

“Does this upset you?” he asked. He knew he was provoking her now, but that fact did not seem to matter to him. Without even thinking of etiquette, he took his hand and pushed her hair back, tucking it behind her ear, to better see her face. It felt smooth as silk in his fingers, and on impulse he wondered when the last time he had touched a woman’s hair was. He pushed _that_ thought away, too.

She didn’t quite flinch, but the ghost of it was playing around her eyebrows. She didn’t look at him, though, and spoke to her hands.

“No. It can’t. Thor has lived so many lifetimes…I can’t let it bother me that there were many before me.”

_Many_? The word played around in his mind, and he realized that her choice of word was not because she _knew_ , but because she was too afraid to _ask_ , leading to an assumption. Not that her assumption wasn’t true.

And once more Loki found himself amazed at the notion that Jane had spent two months with a man she was afraid to talk to. She had not asked him to show her the Yggdrasil; she had not asked him of his past - none of the things that held import to their relationship, anyway. But then he thought quickly that perhaps he was being too presumptive, too hasty to assume that he knew what things Jane needed to be happy. But he thought of Thor, then: his presence, his gait. And the easy way in which he had turned his back on Sif because of something so small as the fact that she no longer had the shade of hair he preferred.

And then Loki regarded Jane’s hair, its chestnut hue that fell in slight waves. And then he realized that he had no idea at all what Thor preferred. A millennium certainly did not care to hold things constant, but Thor was an exception to the rule. And as Loki looked at Jane, he wondered if it was indeed she who had changed him, or if Thor was already on the cusp of change before he was sent to Midgard, and all he needed was a prodding hand. 

But he thought of Jötunheim, then. How Thor had slain dozens of Frost Giants simply because Laufey had called him a _princess_.

“What are you thinking about?” Loki heard, and his mind snapped out of his reverie. He met Jane’s eye and gave his most wicked smile.

“Nothing you would care to know about.”

Jane paled, then, and stood, putting distance between the two of them. Her unease was not lost on him. He stayed where he was, though, fixing Jane with his most open gaze. 

“Well…” she said, and looked around the room. “I guess you could tell me about your magic, now.”

Loki gave a slight grin, and he opened his arms. 

“I’m afraid that our time has run out, my dear.” He stood, and stretched idly. “We shall save talk of magic for next time. However…” 

He walked to the table, and raised his hand, bringing forth a bowl of steaming stew. He looked at her expectantly, not disappointed by her look of surprise. And then he drew closer to her, slowly, as if waiting for her to step back away from him. He put his left hand behind his back, bowing slightly, transforming easily into the role of a prince. He was suddenly nothing but coy and warm and regal, and he realized how easily he had slipped into his old self. He took her hand, softly, and brought it to his lips, leaving a light kiss on her knuckles, trailing too long before lowering it again and setting it free. 

He could have laughed at her unease, at her apparent inability to follow his moods. But he didn’t, because he found himself unable to follow them himself.

()()()

Loki found himself on the throne long after court was over. The dying light of the sun was the only tell-tale sign of the time, but Loki felt no sense of its passing. He let his mind wander between his exchange with Jane, finding it hard to focus on any one particular thing. He felt his frustration rise at the notion that he was not quite himself, with her - that he was not all anger and hatred and rage, but something else, something that whispered from somewhere far, far away. He bit his tongue in effort to hold the growl trying to find its way out. 

And then he heard the sounds of the side door of the hall opening and closing; the swish of cape and clink of armor. He saw Fandral walking nimbly to the throne, his face unreadable. 

“Allfather, I bid you good day.”

Loki inclined his head in Fandral’s general direction but did not look straight at him. He did not have to ask himself why Fandral was even here; it was easy enough to guess by the way he shuffled on his feet that he brought questions - undoubtedly of Thor. Fandral knelt, then, and Loki saw from the corner of his eye a swish of cape, green on black. His brow refused to furrow at the strange sense of unease that had suddenly overcome him. Fandral still wore Loki’s colors, something of course that he knew - but for some reason, that fact played a strange game of twisting Loki’s insides completely in that moment.

“Fandral the Dashing,” Loki said slowly, a ghost of a smile playing about his lips.

“Oh - well, you know, Allfather,” Fandral said lightly, waving his hand in a buoyant fashion; Loki’s eyes followed it mechanically. Fandral then let out a tight laugh, followed by a cough in efforts to cover it up. Loki raised his eyebrows in slight impatience, finding this exchange overly tedious already.

“I trust you have reason for coming to me?”

“Yes - I do apologize. I know you must be very busy and all that…” Fandral trailed off, casting a wary gaze around the empty hall, and then quickly looked back to Loki. “I was simply wishing to inquire about Thor. Will he be returning? He left so suddenly.”

Loki allowed a stretch of silence to fill the space where Fandral’s mindless prattle had been, and he finally met his eye. 

“Where were you and Thor going?” he asked suddenly.

Fandral’s mouth opened but no sound came out. And then he took his hands and began wringing them nervously - and Loki cocked his head slightly.

“I’m waiting.”

“Well, you see, Allfather…” Fandral said quietly, and Loki allowed himself for a moment to be completely baffled. Fandral was his oldest friend, aside from Thor - and while Fandral had a way with words, he was not deceptive. Not where it mattered, anyway.

“Out with it, boy,” Loki finally spat.

And then Fandral spoke, his words articulated but soft, as if he feared to say them: “I do not believe that Loki is dead.”

The silence that followed his statement was deafening. Loki’s stomach gave such an uncomfortable lurch that he almost jumped to his feet, but he stayed seated. His legs felt suddenly numb, anyway. 

Loki’s question came out hoarsely before he could control it. “How could you say such a thing?” 

“I apologize, Allfather. I know all of Asgard believes him…gone,” Fandral said quickly. “But I cannot…my oldest friend.” His hands continued their strange dance, in and out of each other, and finally he stiffened, pushing his hands into fists that went to his sides. Loki saw his brow knit, and then he spoke again. “I cannot believe that he would be so easily defeated. There were too many times when he should have been, for certain…and I cannot presume to understand all of Loki’s doings, but he always found a way out.” His mouth twisted bitterly. “Always.”

Loki slumped visibly in his seat, acutely aware of the strange paradox he found himself in. He could not blame Fandral for believing what was true - surely, there were many times when death was so imminent that it was nothing short of a miracle that Loki had found his way out; like a snake, slithering away from its hand with speed and precision. And there were many times when it was Loki who took Fandral with him. The memories gripped him, then; the ever inescapable thread of the past that wove itself seamlessly in and out of the present. He suddenly found it quite hard to breathe.

“I mean not to cause you distress, Allfather,” Fandral said weakly. He rather looked as if he knew not what to do; his hands had once again met, but they were only clasped in a grip so tight that Loki could see the white of his knuckles.

“Loki…is dead. The Einherjar do not lie,” Loki finally said, fearing his voice had no weight.

“Forgive me, my king. I know this. But…” Fandral faltered, and stepped forward, halting just as he did so. “Perhaps he was mistaken. And _why_ didn’t he bring Loki’s body back, if it were true? Regardless of his actions in the past, he died saving Thor and Lady Jane. He died with honor…and we did not give him to the pyres to send him to Valhalla? It…it isn’t right. He was left to collect dust on Svartalfheim, like a traitor. And despite his words and actions, Loki was _not_ a traitor at the end.”

Loki watched Fandral as he spoke, his unease growing steadily with each statement - Fandral was all over the place with his questions, his musings. 

“Where were you and Thor going?” Loki repeated, loudly, avoiding every question Fandral had just asked. 

His face paled, and Loki knew that what he would say would not be good.

“I…I implored Thor to show me the doorway to Svartalfheim. The one Loki had discovered in his youth.”

Loki bit back the curse that was building in his throat, and stood on his feet. Fandral stepped back, then.

“And he agreed to this?” Loki bit out.

“Well…no. No, he didn’t,” Fandral replied, and he looked to his feet. Loki stepped down the golden steps, Gungnir forgotten. His eyes flicked about the darkening hall, to the Einherjar forever posed still as statues at the far front doors. And then he was level with Fandral; his eyes flicked to the blonde of his head, his eyes downcast.

“Tell me exactly what happened.”

“Allfather, I apologize for this,” Fandral said. “I had drawn Thor away with the pretense of hunting. Once away from the palace, I spoke of my beliefs. I told him he need not come with me, even, that I only wanted to know where the door lay. But…Thor wouldn’t budge. He did not agree with me. He said I was insulting the memory of Loki.” His brow knit then, and he met Loki’s eye. “And then on the second day, he sought me out to try to put some sense into me,” he finished bitterly.

“And so you come to me asking if Thor will return because you hope to continue your fruitless search,” Loki said slowly. Fandral balked in the aftermath of this statement.

“Forgive me.”

Fandral’s statement was all Loki needed. He stood there for a moment, unmoving. Fandral’s musings were detrimental to all Loki had sustained these past months on the throne. And while he knew this had to be squashed, as he looked at Fandral’s thin form, he felt the strongest sense of melancholia that suddenly gripped him as strongly as his rage could. He remembered the day that Fandral swore fealty to him, donning his green cape with his easy smile. He remembered the day like it was just yesterday. He longed suddenly to tell Fandral that his beliefs were true; that he was speaking to the man he so desperately believed to be alive - but Loki blinked, and the spell was gone.

“You must stop this immediately. Thor was correct - you insult Loki’s memory by not accepting what is truth.”

“Allfather…can you not see that my questions have merit?”

Fandral’s voice was so pained that it was Loki who faltered now. But he had come too far to play into this; and his chest burned at the sheer contrast between now and what Loki would actually do if it were truly he in this position. If it were another time, another situation, he would not squash Fandral’s notions - he would encourage him, go with him on his quest. He would raise all the necessary questions needed to push Fandral where he needed to go. And Loki sourly wished that he had never gone to Jötunehim that day.

_No_ , he thought again. _I_ had _to go to Jötunheim_. He hated himself for his sudden weakness. He regarded Fandral again, hating himself for wishing for the easier path, even in passing. And he hated Fate for constantly dealing him the hand of cards that could never let him win.

“No, they do not have merit,” Loki said then, allowing his words to grind into the silence of the hall. He imagined them being knives to twist into Fandral’s flesh, hoping they were enough to stave him off. “Loki is _dead_. Gone. And your childish quest will not bring him back.”

Fandral opened his mouth, his face twisted in a strange mix of pain and insult. And then he knelt, quickly, his stiff right hand clenched in a fist on his heart. And then he stood, turned, and left Loki to stare at his retreating back.

()()()

_I once again thank you all for any comments, bookmarks, kudos, etc. Thank you so much! Also,_ The Children of Odin _is indeed a real book. It's public domain, and it's quite a read._


	12. Chapter Twelve

“The lust for comfort, that stealthy thing that enters the house a guest, and then becomes a host, and then a master.” - Khalil Gibran

()()()

Chapter Twelve

()()()

When Loki visited Odin once more, he was quite surprised to find him asleep in bed.

He entered the cell, quietly, unsure of how to react to the strange sight. Certainly, he had seen Odin asleep before, but somehow seeing him do it _here_ held a strange weight to it. Loki walked to the bed, slowly, hands clasped tightly behind his back. Odin was breathing steadily, his eye closed in solid peace.

He held no threat to Loki in this state, and suddenly he wished for a dagger to slide across Odin’s pale throat. Loki almost yearned for it, then: the sudden cascade of crimson; the wet, final release. It would be an easy end to this constant battle inside of him; the never-ending question of what to do with Odin. 

Only the thought of Heimdall stopped him from conjuring the blade, and he fell short in his movements. Loki knew, intrinsically, that he was teetering far too close to the line of what he could get away with without Heimdall noticing. 

_And what would Jane think of your red-stained hands?_ That incongruous voice in the back of his mind whispered, the one he terribly wished to silence. He bit his tongue in the silence of the cell, and turned on his heel away from Odin. Away from temptation. And he glared at the plain, alabaster wall, forcing his rage down. He was no good without his mind clear; and he realized quite shrilly that his mind was all he had of himself, anymore.

With a raise of his hand, he summoned a tray of food for Odin; rolls and stew and tea. And without another glance, he left Odin in his slumber, unaware completely of the battle Loki had just fought.

()()()

The following day passed slowly to Loki - as he held court, the voices of peasants and noblemen alike turned into nothing more than faded, distant ramblings. He could not hold focus on any of the matters presented, and he began to wonder how he could hold up his guise if he was so constantly _rattled_.

His exchange with Fandral was still looming in his brain, much like a nagging finger poking and prodding without relent. He had seen naught of Fandral - in fact none of the Warriors Three or Lady Sif sat in court that day. Loki vaguely wondered where they were, but knew it was impossible to keep tabs on every living thing on Asgard. But truthfully, he knew somehow that he was far too _distracted_ to even try.

His mind fell on Jane, then: the woman he held hostage in the depths of the palace, the woman that he could not seem to be rid of. It had been three days since their last exchange; but the sound of her voice, the cascade of her hair was fluttering about his memory like an ethereal ghost that he couldn’t escape. 

Of course he still left her meals, but her attempts to speak were mostly left ignored. He couldn’t bring himself to say more than a few one worded replies to her, for his throat would often tighten as soon as he opened his mouth. That strange, gripping voice often consumed him when he stepped foot in that room, the one that told him he was doing the wrong thing, that he could still make it _right_. And he ignored that, too.

But this day as he sat the throne, he felt the grasp of desolation clutching rather solidly about his being. He looked to the gathering in the hall, all waiting to speak to him, the Allfather - _Odin_. Not Loki, no. The knew not who they knelt to, and for some inane reason, this fact consumed his thoughts until there was no room left for anything else.

Loki knew he needed a respite, and that was all the justification he could give himself for finding Jane that night. He would go mad, otherwise.

()()()

Loki seated himself at the table, keeping his face as straight as possible - his eyes bored into Jane’s back, and he suddenly felt aware at how cold the room was. He raised his hand and the fire came to life. Jane jumped, minimally, and he let himself smirk.

“Did you do that?” she asked, and turned to look at him. Her eyes only met his for a fraction of a moment before falling back to the fire.

“I did.”

There was a small moment of silence - it was only filled with the crackling flames - and Loki let himself relax minutely. 

“Come and dine with me. Are you not hungry?” he asked, waiting for her reaction.

Jane’s face held suspicion, and she took a tentative step toward the table. He sat back, hands on his knees, and waited.

“Another magic trick, I assume?” she asked, gesturing at the obviously empty table.

Loki laughed; it filled the room and bounced off the walls. He rather thought that it sounded more wild than refined, and ceased immediately. 

“Oh, yes.”

Her eyes met his for only a brief moment, before she reached the chair, her hand resting on the frame. Her nails were bitten to the quick; a few of them angry and red. His brow knit at the sight, and he raised his gaze to her face. 

And then he raised his hand, and the table was full of food.

Jane’s eyes widened as she took in what happened - he relished it. He did not know why it was so gratifying to show her magic, but he heard the gasp that escaped her lips and barely contained his smile. And then he realized how this was exactly what he needed, these past few days. 

“How’s that?” he asked.

“That’s one hell of a trick,” Jane replied, her tone slightly awed. Loki felt a lush bubble of pride at her words - he could not remember when anybody on Asgard would have complimented him with such genuine astonishment. 

“Please, sit. Indulge yourself.”

His hand reached for the bottle of wine, and he uncorked it without magic, the _pop_ sound echoing off the walls. Jane sat, still taking in the sight of so much food when not even two minutes ago the table had been bare. He watched her while he poured himself a glass, probably too full - and he showed her the bottle.

“Can I interest you in this?” 

“What is it?” she asked, hesitantly. He realized the label was not readable to her, and shrugged.

“An old Svartalf vintage - not from the _actual_ Svartalfheim, mind you. I think this one came from Niflheim in the style of the Dark Elves. When the Dark Elves actually created instead of destroyed, they were quite the winemakers.”

“Space wine,” Jane said, her tone flat.

Loki raised an eyebrow at her.

“Yes, I suppose it is.”

“Give me some.”

His brow knit only slightly at her command - he found that in the circumstances, he didn’t particularly mind that she told him what to do. He didn’t realize that something as simple as a bottle of wine could command so much of her attention, but then he thought rather suddenly that probably _anything_ that was not of Midgard held her interest.

He poured her a glass - a small one, as this particular wine was quite strong - and set the bottle down. He grabbed a roll and began to butter it, and then he realized that Jane was not moving.

“Are you going to eat?” Loki asked. 

“I…yes,” she said. “I’m just a little overwhelmed right now, that’s all.”

He leaned forward, taking note of her slightly widened eyes. He smirked slightly, enjoying the feel of it on his face.

“You’re welcome.”

Jane dropped her gaze and grabbed her glass. She held it to her nose and closed her eyes. He leaned back and took his glass too, watching her. 

“It _smells_ good,” she said.

Loki took a deep swig of his own wine, the flavor taking over his entire mouth. He swallowed and swirled the liquid in his glass, not meeting her eye.

“What are you waiting for, Jane? Try it. I can guarantee it is the best you’ve ever had.”

She sighed and raised it to her mouth. He watched her face transform almost immediately. And he knew exactly what she was feeling - he remembered the first time he had it; alcohol was strictly forbidden until one turned twenty, but he remembered that he was barely fourteen when Thor sneaked a bottle of this into his chambers. Loki remembered that night, fuzzily - he remembered his first sip, how intoxicating it was that he had wine at fourteen and it was so _delicious_ and he remembered he had gotten so drunk that he had been sick the entire next day. His mother was livid, but thought the hangover was appropriate and just punishment.

“Oh my God,” he heard, and his eyes focused on Jane. She was smiling. 

“I take it you like it?” Loki asked, his tone light.

“You weren’t kidding. This is easily the best wine I’ve ever had.”

“Excellent. Now eat.”

Jane did not need telling twice. He knew she was hungry - her hands shook slightly as she plated herself, bread and rice and meat and potatoes. He knew this would be almost impossible for her to decline. Loki was not as hungry and picked at his roll, feeling a strange sense of deflation. 

Instead, he downed his glass, reveling in the taste of alcohol. He could not remember the last time he had any - and then he remembered his request to the team, the Avengers. In his defeat, he asked for a drink, and surprisingly, once he was locked in a cell, they had complied. How else did they expect him to easily go back to Asgard?

But that Midgardian fare did not come close to comparing to this. He poured another glass, and reached for the potatoes. 

“I find it weird that I’m drinking wine from Svartalfheim,” Jane said suddenly. Loki looked up at her in surprise at her comment.

“Oh?”

She took a sip, and he noticed her cheeks were already turning slightly pink. 

“When I was here last, Odin told me they wanted nothing but darkness…or something.”

Loki chuckled. “Yes, but those Dark Elves were a select few, at one point. Sort of like a clan. There was once a time when the Dark Elves contributed much to society and culture.”

“Like this?” she asked, gesturing at the bottle. 

“Indeed.”

Jane took a bite of rice, chewing slowly. Loki continued to drink, already feeling the slight buzz in his ears. 

“And then what? How did they go from creating awesome alcohol to demanding darkness?”

“This was long before my time,” he said. “I’ve heard different variations of the tale. Malekith grew too strong - his following grew bigger and bigger until he started eradicating those who did not agree with him. He slaughtered much of his own race before long. Svartalfheim was once a prosperous and beautiful realm. And now…well, you’ve seen what it is now.”

Jane did not reply immediately and finished her glass. He watched her stare at it, and wondered what she thought. Perhaps she was amazed by her ‘space wine’ as she called it; perhaps he was realizing that she drank it out of a ‘space glass’, too? He did not say anything; he took in the lines of her face. She was young, by Asgardian standards - but on Midgard, she was already so far into her life. He wondered if she realized it.

“He reminds me of Hitler,” she said finally, and tapped her glass. “I’ll have another.”

She said it with a strange smirk, and Loki wondered if she was referencing something; if she was, it was lost on him. But Hitler he _did_ know. Loki poured her another glass, fuller than last time, and topped his off, too.

“I know of him,” he said. 

“You do?” she asked, her voice sounding surprised.

“You do not honestly think I would have attempted to rule a realm that I did not understand?”

Silence, again. They both drank in unison, eyes on each other, and Loki found a strange sense of peace at that. Loki breathed deeply and realized that with Jane, he did not have to pretend. He was not acting as someone else with her.

“I don’t know. I still don’t know much about it - SHIELD hid me away in Sweden when it was going on. I saw some video clips; I heard talk. You told everyone that…that we crave subjugation? That freedom is life’s great lie? I don’t think you understand us at all, if that’s what you truly think.”

Loki grit his teeth, breaking eye contact with Jane, and realizing too late that it was a sign of weakness on his part. He thought back to his time on Midgard; he thought back on his stunt in Stuttgart and the man that he had thrown against the marble table, the screaming crowd that parted as he walked by, all leather and metal and gold.

“I still think that, mostly. As a whole, your race is in desperate need of discipline and order. You fret your lives away seeking purpose and meaning, when all meaning is lost to you in your haste to find _more_ meaning. You have achieved so little because of it.”

Jane sat back in her chair, holding her glass and then she laughed. Loki misliked being laughed at, and he stiffened at the sound. 

“I don’t know whether to be insulted or amused at that.”

Heat was building in his chest, but he said nothing. Instead, he stood, taking his glass with him. He walked to the far window, an easy out. Asgard was calm under the setting sun, and he almost did not process the sound of Jane walking to him.

“Did I offend you?” she asked, and Loki looked at her. Her face was more red than before and her stance was strange; as if she were afraid but trying to find courage. He created more distance between them, knowing their height difference was great. She was petty - her thoughts did not matter to him. She was locked in this room because of him. She could say nothing to change what was truth. He was king of Asgard, and she was nothing but a mortal.

“Do not think too greatly of yourself to assume you could _offend_ me,” he said lazily. He finished his glass and blinked. He knew he should slow down, that getting too drunk could greatly hinder his ability to cloak himself when he left, but at that moment, he didn’t care. He heard that voice in his head - _You have nothing left to care about_ \- but ignored it.

He walked over to the table again, perfectly aware that Jane had not replied. He decided to sit and try to eat some more - perhaps to slow down his rapidly approaching state of intoxication - when Jane joined him.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

He took a bite of potatoes, eying her. She rested her hands on the table, tips of her fingers on the base of her glass. 

“For what?”

“Regardless of what you say, I upset you, and I’m apologizing. Although I don’t really know why, since you tried to take over my planet.”

Loki raised his eyebrows. 

“I’m not sure I’ll let you drink again.”

Jane laughed once more, but he knew this time it was out of amusement and not a slight towards him. He relaxed again.

“Since you understand Midgard, on a lighter subject, did you read any books?”

Loki perked at the change of topic.

“Of course.”

“You strike me as a reading type. What did you read?”

“I think the appropriate question would be: What didn’t I read?”

Loki found himself talking to Jane over the next half hour without once worrying that he was saying too much or too little. They blew through most of the famous authors ranging from Geothe to Tolkien to Jane Austen (” _Her work is absolutely dreadful_ ,” Loki had said, causing Jane to break into a rant about the merits of _Pride and Prejudice_ and _Sense and Sensibility_.) Jane did not try to hide her pleasure that Loki had taken time to read books from a realm he had sought to control. Loki did not understand why she found that so interesting; he had been reading books from Midgard since he was quite young, relatively speaking.

The conversation died down, eventually. Jane’s eyes were drooping slightly and she kept fidgeting in her seat, presumably to stay awake. Loki allowed himself a small smile and stood, feeling slightly uneasy on his own feet. He walked to the window again, suddenly overwhelmed with a sort of childish glee at the sight. He never grew tired of the sky here.

“Come here, Jane.”

At his words, Loki realized that his tone was not commanding and expectant. He watched Jane react: she jumped slightly and got out of her seat, making her way to him, her face an explosion of emotion that he could not pinpoint. She stopped some eight feet away from him.

“What’s the matter?” she asked, and Loki realized that she was concerned. For him? _No, that’s not right_ , he thought. 

“I just want to show you something. Come here.”

Jane obviously hesitated, and Loki held his hand out to her, not entirely sure of what he was expecting. Her gazed dropped from his eyes to his outstretched hand, and she stepped closer, and took it.

Her hand was warm, and Loki pulled her to the window, standing behind her. He dropped her hand quickly, and pointed.

“Look at the sky.”

“I look at it every night. It’s so beautiful here, like something out of a dream.”

“Yes. Not even I am immune to its beauty.”

Loki had the sudden urge to back away from her. He was close - far too close to her, he thought. He didn’t move, though. He did not know why he was doing this; perhaps it was the haze the wine had put over the world, but the sky was positively glowing and for some reason, he felt it extremely important to share this with her. 

_I’m not a monster._

Jane turned sharply, looking up at him with her brow knitted and no semblance of smile on her face. Loki perked his eyebrows in surprise, and instinctively backed away, but Jane grabbed his arm - probably with what she intended as force, but Loki could barely feel the pressure. Not because he was unable to, but because he felt suddenly numbed. Her gaze was intense - far more intense than what he thought her capable, and her mouth parted slightly.

“You aren’t a monster, Loki.”

It took him far too long to process what she just said. He did not even move - he was fairly certain he had forgotten how to breathe. He realized rather quickly that he had said that out loud, instead of thought it, and his ears suddenly felt quite hot. Too hot. He opened his mouth to speak.

“I-”

She cut him off. “I’m sorry I called you that.”

He remembered what he did to cause her to call her that. The look of terror, of anguish. The silence stretched on, until he opened his mouth and broke it.

“No, Jane. _I’m_ sorry I caused you to say it at all.”

His words came out easily; far easier than some of his most expertly delivered lies. And he thought that was the end of it; his eyes lowered to her hand still clenching his arm, her fingers wrinkling the fabric of his shirt. He waited for her to drop it - the contact made him uneasy. But he did not raise his hand to lower it for her.

And then, she closed the distance between them. Loki felt her arms around his back, and for a strange, uneasy moment, he stood there, unable to fully process what she was doing. He could not understand why Jane would be willingly, knowingly touching him. Her face was pressed against his chest; he felt her breathing. He could only look down at the top of her head and stare.

“You’re failing at this, Loki,” he heard, and he stiffened.

“What?”

She pulled back, a strange smile on her face. “It’s called a hug. It’s when two people-”

“I know what a hug is, Jane.”

She cocked her head and sighed. 

They were still close - Jane’s hands were still around his back, and Loki still found himself unable to truly do anything about it. It was oddly comfortable, the embrace. He swallowed, and they stared at each other. He had the inkling that Jane was challenging him; he remembered vaguely as a child when he would be so upset that his mother would wrap her arms around him and not let go until he finally held her back. _“Hugging heals, Loki,”_ she had said so many times.

And so he relented. He raised his stiff arms and pulled Jane to him, taking care to not squeeze too hard. She was still a mortal, after all, and he realized his heart began to race. He closed his eyes, and felt the world spin from too much wine and the feeling of someone in his arms that he did not directly manipulate to be there, and he wondered what he was becoming. 

And it went on too long, or not long enough - because when they finally parted, Loki’s breath hitched almost painfully. His eyes raked her face, looking for the reasoning in her actions there, but all he saw was the strangest sense of _peace_. Her arms fell to her sides, and she backed up, slightly. The warmth she had given him was suddenly gone as quickly as it came.

“Jane,” he said hoarsely, her name falling out of his mouth before he had time to stop it. It was tangible, this silence - only broken by the lazy crack of the fire, and he found that he had no idea just what he was going to say.

She tucked her hair behind her ear, suddenly looking down at her feet.

“Are you ever going to let me out?” she asked softly.

_Of course_ , he thought then, overwhelmed by his own bitterness. _She meant to soften me, in hopes I would release her_. Loki’s body stiffened and he stepped away from her, to create a distance so that he could not be tempted to grab her small frame and shake her. Did she not understand why she was here? Did she not understand at all?

She was looking at him, now, her eyes wide with his reaction - a retreat, instead of an answer. But perhaps his retreat was all the answer she would need, because her face fell, and she turned away from him.

“What a stupid question,” she mumbled. Loki’s brain was moving far too slowly; the wine was taking its precarious toll on him heavily now. He sank on the bed, picking idly at the duvet, waiting for her to say more, but hoping she would not. He suddenly felt overcome by something he could not name.

“You have to realize that what you’re doing can’t go on forever, Loki,” she said then, her back still to him. He felt the familiar stab of anger at her words, and clenched fists in the duvet, willing himself to stay put.

“Oh? Care to spare me some of your wisdom as to why not?” he spat.

She turned, her eyes bearing a sense of sadness that almost hurt him to look at.

“What are you going to do when someone else finds you out, Loki? Are you going to lock them up, too? How long until the palace is nothing but an overdone prison? How long until Thor finds his way back, or Heimdall sees you as what you are? What are you going to _do_?”

His body moved of its own accord, and suddenly he was on his feet. He was trembling, visibly, that deadly wave of rage that was always so close to the surface was freshly humming through his veins - 

And she stepped forward, reaching out to touch him. He watched her hand as if in slow motion, reaching its way across the space to lay itself on his arm once more. It was odd, watching it. Feeling it. He knew it was there, he knew where it came from and who it belonged to, but could not for any reason understand _why_.

Loki’s own hand covered hers, then. He squeezed, lightly, feeling the thin spindles of bone and tendon underneath the flesh, understanding the pathways of vein and marrow. He could easily break those fingers, he mused. He could easily give her a reason to never touch him again.

Instead, he took her hand and pulled it off of him. And he let go, and walked away.

“I suppose it’s too late to talk about magic, now?” Jane asked sardonically.

Loki regarded her, then. His eyes fell to the hand that had so willingly touched him. His eyes flicked up to meet hers, and he sighed.

“We’ll save it for next time,” he said heavily. And then he cloaked himself with all the concentration he could manage. He left her alone, unable to understand why his heart hurt so – and all he could see was her face, even long after he lay in bed and closed his eyes, hoping for the sweet release of sleep.

()()()

_Drop a note to let me know what you thought!_


	13. Chapter Thirteen

“We used to wonder where war lived, what it was that made it so vile. And now we realize that we know where it lives... inside ourselves.” - Albert Camus

()()()

Chapter Thirteen

()()()

But sleep did not come easily for Loki that night. He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, half drunk and wondering if the darkness would literally consume him. He thought on Jane’s words - _You’re not a monster, Loki_ \- but they turned brittle in his mind and he rolled over quite violently, trying to shove the thoughts away.

Of course it did not work. He sneered venomously into the night, to nobody, to the shadows. It was a cruel battle he was fighting - but he did not know what he was fighting for, anymore. _Jane Foster found me out_ , his mind supplied weakly. _She gets no less than she deserves_ -

And then another thought sharply interrupted him, and he sat up quickly. He remembered, somehow, lifetimes ago - or only just last night - he had left Odin food. Did he remove the thread?

_No_ , he realized, and then despite himself a new smile formed on his face: a wicked, ominous thing. _All the better, really_. Odin would stare at food he could not possibly consume, and Loki was only sour he did not get to witness it.

He lay back down, closing his eyes tightly, wondering why his heart was so _heavy_. Jane’s endless questions were seemingly sentient, crawling their way up and down his very body. _What are you going to_ do?

“I don’t know,” he whispered into the night, before clamping his mouth shut, gritting his teeth. He lay like that for a long while, until his jaw finally slackened and he relaxed, and sleep claimed him as one of its own.

()()()

Loki was only aware of the sounds of his own breath, and stillness.

He stood there, alone, staring out of the window, but found that it was too dark to see anything out of it. And so he turned with a huff and walked some paces away, hands behind his back.

And then, footsteps. Somewhere behind him. He didn’t know. He found that it didn’t matter much, anyway.

He looked down at his feet, his brown leather boots, the shuffling behind him growing nearer. And finally, he lifted his head and turned to see Jane.

Her mouth was curved in a soft, whimsical smile; her frame was draped in a silken blue dress that whispered delicately at her feet. He watched her, unsure of what to do, not remembering how he got there or why. She inched closer, walking around him to face him, and his eyes never left her face. She was looking down, he noticed, at his arm, or his hand, and he felt his eyebrows raise in perplexity.

And then Jane’s hand found his own, and when she looked to meet his eyes, her entire form had an ethereal, ghostlike quality to it: it was almost _glowing_ , and her hand felt smooth as silk in his.

He meant to snatch it away, for the contact made him nervous. _Nervous?_ No, not _nervous_ , but something like it. Something like it…

“You’re not a monster, Loki,” she said softly, and he found himself staring at her mouth. His ears rang from the sound of her voice, like music that started and then stopped abruptly. He studied the curve of her lips, the almost-smile forming at the corner, and he licked his own.

“Not a monster…” she whispered then. His eyes snapped from her mouth to beyond her, and realized that they were not actually in her chambers, but somewhere else. Somewhere golden and green and yellow, somewhere with soft wind curling around his face. The air had a chill quality to it, but he was not cold. 

Svartalfheim, he knew. His eyes swept over the barren landscape, the mountains in the distance nothing more than shadows. The sun was obscured behind the clouds, hiding, hiding…

“Did you hear me, Loki?” Jane asked, louder. “Please tell me that you heard me.”

Irritably, he met her eyes. He leaned in, closer, suddenly overcome with the need to know just what color they were. Not brown, as he had previously accepted. Something more. Something warmer, something much more pleasant…

He felt a shift, somewhere. Maybe it was her feet, because she was closer to him now, staring back at him with such intensity he felt his mouth open, slightly. He was about to speak, but suddenly no words seemed appropriate. The hand in his squeezed, fingers interlacing, and her other hand reached up and touched his cheek. It was not tentative - it was fastidious, it was as if she had done it hundreds of times before, it was as if she knew exactly _how_ to touch him, and her hand trailed down, her fingertips brushing over his lips.

“What -”

Loki stopped short, his words dying in his throat. His heart swelled, an aching, almost painful thing. His free hand shot up to grab hers, and he squeezed. Not hard, but hard enough that her eyes widened and her lips parted, he heard that hitch of breath…

“What are you doing?” he asked roughly, hoarsely. And she smiled.

“Don’t act so surprised,” she replied, that musical voice flitting about his ears, and he inhaled deeply. His brain was confused, but his body wasn’t: he realized that he had leaned in farther, closer, the distance between them suddenly too much. He was holding both of her hands, now, and he let the original one go, his hand moving of its own accord: his fingertips brushed her own cheek, then, and he marveled in its softness, marveled in the way her eyes lit up to his touch -

“Jane,” he heard himself say, but did not realize he had opened his throat to allow the air to form the word. Her smile was dazzling, though, and he found himself letting go of her other hand, to cup her face and pull it toward his. Her eyes closed, her brow knit. He could feel her breath on his chin, he could see every line of her face, and he swallowed heavily to keep himself from gasping audibly…

Jane’s eyes fluttered open, lazily, and he almost let go in surprise at the closeness of her gaze. It was terrible, yet _so_ sweet. She was close enough to feel his own breath, to trace her eyes down the line of the scar on his forehead; she was close enough to count the flecks in his eyes. When was the last time he had been so physically close to someone? He found that he didn’t know, and so he didn’t move.

And then she smiled again, almost sleepily, a hand reaching up to cover his on her cheek.

“What are you waiting for? Kiss me.”

And Loki found himself almost surprised that he didn’t need telling twice. He pulled her face closer, his lips meeting hers fervently, possessively, overwhelmed by how suddenly he very desperately _needed_ it, needed _her_. He couldn’t imagine himself anywhere else, then. This was where he belonged; for what else could be true when his heart was singing the way it was? He dropped his hands, closing them around her in a crushing embrace, not close enough, _never_ close enough. He felt vibration from her mouth; her throat had made a sound, but he couldn’t catch it because his heart was suddenly in his ears - she tasted sweet, like sugar, like syrup, like the finest mead. His breathing deepened; he couldn’t get enough air - and he deepened the kiss, not knowing when he had opened his mouth, not knowing when he became aware of the feeling of her tongue gliding over his -

And of course, he woke then. He went through the ever familiar motions of opening his eyes and sitting up in bed as if he had been pulled up with the utmost force coupled by the imposing feeling of _dark_. He darted his eyes around the room, looking automatically, instinctively to the large window.

It was just the sky, that he could see. That magnificent, illuminated thing that captured so much of his attention over the millennium. No matter what time of day it was, one could always see the stars…

He raised his hand and ran it over his mouth. He closed his eyes, remembering his dream - the details were so clear only moments ago, but now…

The details were crumbling into dust. He could picture Jane’s face, her mouth on his, the heat of her body that he was so certain was real. But as he looked around his chambers, that feeling from the dream was slipping away, only to leave behind a cold, dank _emptiness_.

Loki removed his bed covers and slid out, his feet meeting the stone floor. He began to pace, then, wondering what a dream like that could possibly _mean_.

With a shuddering breath, he realized then that it did not matter. Dreams were just that - _dreams_. He decided to give it no further thought. He momentarily felt a level of frustration with himself; Jane was taking too much of his time, too much of his _mind_. And now not even his slumber was rid of her. But he mused that _this_ dream was far better than most. No haunting memories, no deadly breath of ice…

No dead men staring him in the eyes, reducing him to nothing more than a breathing sack of flesh. His skin prickled at even the mere thought of Laufey, then - those evil red eyes boring into his very soul.

“Stop,” Loki whispered to himself, and looked at the mirror he was standing by. The room was lighting up now, slowly, and Odin stared back at him.

It was curious, he thought then, how each day he sat the throne, took his meals, walked the halls, met with people at court, as someone he easily detested most in all of the Nine. What, exactly, was the point? He looked away from the reflection, not able to handle staring at himself as Odin, not able to accept that this is what he was truly doing. Loki suddenly was overcome with the astonishing sense of shame. 

_Am I cursed?_

Wouldn’t it have been easier, really, if Odin had answered _yes_?

Loki slumped to the floor unceremoniously, on his knees. He stared at the stones, the divots and bumps. His vision became blurred, his entire being consumed with something he could not name. And he sat that way for a long while, until long after the sun had risen and gave grace to a new day.

But it would never be a _new_ day to him - for they were all the same.

()()()

Odin was awake this time. 

Loki stood before the dim yellow light the forcefield let off, staring at the man beyond it. He focused too much on his own breath: in, and out. Steady. Definite. Trying to keep a semblance of normalcy, he settled his face into something like a smirk, and lifted his hand to allow himself to step inside.

Odin’s wary eye followed him, and Loki kept his eyes on him. He wondered, somewhere in the back of his mind, if Odin knew what had transpired with Jane and Thor. He wondered if he felt Thor’s absence; if he felt the Tesseract from even down here in the bleakest pits of the dungeons. Loki shuddered at the thought of sitting down here in the dark, to possibly be woken out of slumber to the feeling of the Tesseract’s energy coursing through the veins of the palace. It was a harrowing thought, and he raised his hand once more to rid Odin of his thread.

Loki broke eye contact and banished the coagulated bowl of stew he had left the previous day, replacing it with a fresh plate of bread and fruit. And then he settled himself down in the chair, hands placed carefully on his knees, and waited for Odin to eat.

Or speak, because he had opened his mouth, minutely. A flash of pain crossed his face; the wounds from the thread were weeping. A stab of something like triumph ran through Loki’s chest, and he sneered. 

“Loki…” Odin said weakly, clenching his left hand to his heart. Loki watched his fingers tighten around the fabric of his tunic, but said nothing in reply. 

Finally, Odin reached for the tray, pulling the bread from it and taking large bites. Loki sighed, slightly, already wishing this little ‘visit’ was over. He could not find it within himself to pity Odin. He remembered his urge, his _desire_ to slice Odin’s throat just the day before - and he could almost smell the sharp metallic scent of blood even now from his seat. He wondered what Odin would look like, dead. Lifeless, on the ground - the color leaving his skin, his bones and muscles rigid from release. 

He wondered if Valhalla had a place for Odin.

And then rather bitterly, Loki wondered if Valhalla had a place for him.

“Loki,” Odin said again, cutting through his abstraction. His eyes focused on Odin’s form slumped over on the floor. Loki clicked his tongue.

“What, old man?”

“How does the throne treat you?”

He stared at him, his face unchanging, but he felt the familiar curve of rage. 

“Better than it ever treated you, I daresay,” he bit back.

Odin did not miss a beat. “Did Jane Foster pass the test?”

Loki laughed, his hands squeezing his knees slightly. The wild sound echoed off the walls, and he leaned forward.

“She did not.”

He considered, then, what he wanted to tell Odin. He could tell him anything he wanted, and Odin would have no way to discover what was actually truth. But Loki decided the truth was better, or most of it, anyway. He longed to ignite a response in Odin - he longed to make him _fear_. He longed to kill all hope Odin could ever have of escaping this place.

“Thor has returned to Midgard, not to return,” Loki said maliciously, “And Jane is my prisoner, now.”

Odin expressed no real reaction, and Loki frowned. He looked down at his hands, still gripping his knees, and wondered why his mouth felt like ash.

“You really have no limits, do you, Loki?”

His question was not really a question. Loki flicked his eyes to meet Odin’s once more, his frown deepening. 

“Of course I have limits. I haven’t killed you yet, have I?”

It was Odin who frowned this time - his red, glistening mouth turning rigid. His eye hardened, too, and Loki blinked twice, quickly.

“You haven’t killed me because that would be too easy. I have known you too long, my son - you crave the complications. And now you have Jane locked away. I hope you’re feeding her more often than me; the Midgardians wilt without sustenance.”

Odin’s words were long, drawn out. Loki sucked in a breath and stood, his hands clenching into fists at his sides, his mind focused on only one thing.

“ _I am not your son_ ,” he growled savagely, the sound of his voice slicing through the air like a sharp blade. He stared at Odin, breathing deeply, his nails cutting the flesh of his palms.

“If I am not your father, then who is?” Odin asked simply. “Do you detest me so much you would claim a Frost Giant over me?”

Loki stopped breathing, then. It was the far easier solution; if he had no breath, he would have nothing to form into the earth-shattering shout he so desperately wanted to make. All he could do was to continue to stare at Odin, stare at his ripped mouth and stringy white hair. His beard, his ragged clothes, his hands folded elegantly in his lap. His head that was turned to look at him, his eyebrows raised ever so slightly, awaiting response. 

And then Loki breathed again. He opened his mouth, forcing himself to speak as quietly as he could.

“I killed my _real_ father,” he spat. “I could kill you, too.”

Odin nodded, then, lowering his head, looking away from him. Loki bit his tongue, hard, until he tasted blood. He turned his back on him, staring out of the forcefield, out into the dark, dusty hallway. He could see nothing, but it did not matter. It was better than staring into the face of the man that lied to him for his entire life.

“If I remember correctly…you killed Laufey because you wanted acceptance. Praise. From me.”

Loki spun around so quickly, his hair flipped in disarray. He felt strands of it brushing his forehead, the tips of his eyelids. He advanced on Odin, raising his hand.

“ _SHUT UP_ -”

“I’m just so sorry, Loki, that you found out the way you did. And if you hadn’t fallen off the Bridge, maybe you wouldn’t be so -”

But what Odin thought Loki was, he didn’t find out. He issued out a ball of energy - a hot, heavy thing - and hurled it at Odin’s head. And then Odin spoke no more.

Loki stood there for several minutes, breathing heavily, a buzzing filling his ears, overwhelming his thoughts. His eyes darted up and down Odin’s body that was slumped awkwardly on the floor, his head laying to one side, ear almost brushing his shoulder. Loki knelt down and rammed two fingers against Odin’s throat, against his jugular.

Steady, slow heartbeats were felt, and Loki jerked his hand back, running it absently through his hair. He coldly stared at Odin for another moment longer, and stood quickly. He did not spare Odin another glance and left him where he sat, not even bothering to bring his thread back. 

Even if he awoke and began to yell, there was nobody in the Nine that would hear him.

()()()

Like a child, Loki found himself pacing outside of Jane’s door. He was rattled, he knew, or something like it. The game he was playing with Odin was a dangerous one, and Loki vaguely wondered exactly how long he could keep up with it. Anymore explosions like _that_ , and it was only a matter of time before he actually killed him.

Loki stopped, finally, at the heavy wooden door. He stared at it, considering what he should do. He had to leave her dinner, for he did not leave her anything to break her fast this morning. And he cursed himself silently for his weakness - for sentiment, if that is the name he could give what he was feeling. 

Remembering his dream sent a peculiar spark through his chest; he knew not what it was. He bit back a growl at the realization that he did not know what much of anything he was feeling was, anymore. And this simply made him angrier.

He reached his hand out to grip the large cooper doorknob, the metal cool on his palm. He closed his eyes momentarily, and then turned it.

Soundlessly, as always, it opened, light from the room falling on his arm. He stepped inside, quietly, and closed the door behind him, locking it.

And then his eyes searched for Jane, which they immediately found: she was laying on the bed, reading a book. Or she _was_ , because now she was staring right at him.

He marveled, then, at her spirit. He saw no fear in her eyes, no trepidation on her face. And perhaps it was just a trick of the light, but he thought he saw something like a small smile on her face.

“You’re back,” she said lightly, flipping the page in her book. Loki forced himself to look away, and set the tray down on the table. He stood there for a beat too long, and he heard her get out of the bed and walk toward him. He turned his head to look at her.

She was staring at the tray, and instinctively he pulled the chair out for her to sit, his hands gripping too hard at the frame. He stepped back, then, and rubbed his forearms, realizing how chill the air was.

Jane had begun to eat, so he turned toward the fireplace and raised his hand, watching dully as flames sprang to life as if they had been lit for hours. Idly, he walked to the bed to see what she was reading, hoping it wasn’t still the Midgardian rubbish from before. He lifted the book up, automatically putting an index finger on the page it was left on. It was a heavy tome with a leather cover, and he turned it so he could see what it was, its title stitched delicately on the front. 

_The Treasures of Álfheim_. An Asgardian book, he realized, written before he was even born. His eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Are you enjoying this?” he asked her skeptically. “This is terribly boring.”

Jane glanced at him, her eyes falling on the book in his hand.

“I hope you didn’t lose my page,” she said lightly. “But yes, I am enjoying it. It’s so beautifully written.”

Loki had nothing to say to that, and he watched her long after she had turned her head back to her tray. He set the book down, noting that he had in fact not lost her page. He sat on the bed, his fingers running over the duvet, vaguely realizing how different he felt now than the last time he was in this exact position.

He heard the sound of the chair grating against the floor, and looked up. Jane rose and turned toward him, obviously hesitating. They looked at each other for too long, and it was Loki who broke the silence.

“You want to know about magic, do you not?”

Jane visibly sparked at that, her mouth parting slightly. His eyes flicked at the movement, watching her lips for a moment, before raising his glance to her eyes.

“Yes, I do,” she said quietly.

“Come, then,” he said, patting the space beside him. He knew not why he was doing this, why he _cared_. But he did not have time to dwell on it, because Jane sat beside him, and he caught her scent for the first time - or maybe the hundredth time, because it was so familiar: like an Asgaridan spring, like a delicate _blåklocka_ , the beautiful purple flower his mother used to grow…

He stopped short in his thoughts, because Jane was staring at him. _Truly_ staring at him - her eyes glued to his, her eyebrows raised in confusion, and Loki’s mouth twitched.

“Magic, then,” he said quickly, looking away from her, at the deep stone walls. “Where would I even start?”

“Well, you could just explain the basic principles of it. I’ve seen you _do_ it, but…the way you do it is so…effortless. You raise your hand…” she trailed off, and raised her own hand, and Loki watched her attempt to make the archaic gesture. His mouth curved up despite himself, and he reached out to assist.

He must have moved too quickly, he thought then, because she jumped. He gripped her wrist, lightly, and used his free hand to move her fingers into position.

“Tilt your hand outside, like this…keep your thumb stiff…first two separated from second two,” Loki said quietly, and let go of her hand once satisfied with the form. “I’ve seen what Midgardians think of magic. All flashes and bangs and…wands,” he said distastefully. “And while yes, sometimes magic can be noisy and colorful, it mostly depends on the wielder. _True_ magic, though, is not often prefaced with transition.” 

Jane nodded and looked at her hand quizzically, not disrupting its position.

Loki raised his own hand, then, and silently, he brought forth a flower, the _blåklocka_. He stared at it with wonder for a moment; it was hovering in mid-air and he heard Jane’s breath hitch beside him. Its vibrant purple hue brought forth so many memories that he almost cast it away.

Instead, he reached out and plucked it from the air, and held it out to her, his eyes tracing the curve of her face. She reached out and took it with the hand he had formed into the gesture, fingers brushing his.

“It’s…beautiful,” she said softly, lifting it to her nose, and for a moment he faltered at her sincerity. He remembered just last night, his volatile anger, his caustic realization that she had meant to _soften_ him, but looking at her now, he struggled to find proof that it was so. Jane lowered the flower then, and met his eye.

“How did you do it?”

Loki shrugged. “Practice. Magic is simply…thought. It’s energy that you shape to become what you want.”

She was silent for a moment, eyes again looking at the flower that she now twirled in her fingers. 

“If that were true, then every time someone wanted something badly enough, they would get it.”

He shook his head.

“No, Jane. It is an art form. It is not as simple as _wishing_ for something. I shudder to think what would become of the Nine if what you said were true.” 

He raised his hand again, and the flower was gone. Jane looked at him in surprise.

“No wonder they call you the god of mischief.” 

Loki smirked at that, and then stood. He looked at her for a moment, his gaze darkening despite himself; he took in the graceful curl of her hair, the shadows from the fire playing on her face. He swallowed, eyes falling on the book beyond her, laying open on the bed.

“Jane,” he said, knowing he was delicately close to the line that bordered insanity, but found that he didn’t care. “How would you like to see Álfheim?”

()()()

_The_ blåklocka _is a real flower from Sweden. Wiki it, if you want to see it for yourself!_

_Also, I thank you all for the comments, suggestions, thoughts, whatever. It really makes my day! Drop a note on what you thought of this chapter :)_


	14. Chapter Fourteen

“There are things known and there are things unknown, and in between are the doors of perception.” - Aldous Huxley

()()()

Chapter Fourteen

()()()

Loki knew that she would say yes. He knew it like he knew the back of his hand, like the mountains of Asgard that he had explored and lived in as a child studying rudimentary magic. As soon as he asked her, he watched the way her eyes changed: like a raging fire, like a thunderous storm. Like he had just offered her the universe.

He supposed that in some ways, he _had_ offered her the universe. He remembered Erik, then - the way he spoke of Jane without Loki even _asking_ him, not really. He remembered the Scepter, the magic that he did not truly understand but regardless still reacted to his every need, every want. He wondered what would have happened if it were Jane at the base that night, instead of Erik. He mused that things would be very different indeed.

His interactions with Erik were enough for him to know that Jane would have been better suited to build the portal Loki needed, but he had not the time nor the energy to seek her out. Erik sufficed, in the end, regardless of how the battle _actually_ ended. And Loki was now somehow loathe to imagine what would have happened to Jane if he had controlled her with the Scepter. At the time, those people were merely pawns. A means to an end. But he knew, somehow, that if Jane were there, he _would_ have used the Scepter on her. He knew it, and he could not quite figure out why that fact _bothered_ him. 

Or why he was thinking of this at all - his conquest of Midgard failed. _He_ failed. And now he was somewhere so much better - on the throne of Asgard. It was what he _wanted_. And yet…

It was hollow. A hollow, meaningless victory. For what was the purpose of winning something that one could not flaunt? In the beginning, it had been merely thrust upon him. He remembered the way he shouted relentlessly at Odin, not even _realizing_ that he was falling to the ground, falling into Odinsleep. Loki knew that his anger often got the best of him, but that was the first time he had _truly_ understood the danger of it. And then his mother - _Frigga_ \- handed him Gungnir and said, “Make your father proud.” 

_Make your father proud._ Her words had echoed in his mind like a shout in an empty hall; he rather wondered if she even knew what her words had done to him.

It took Loki far too long to understand that Jane was responding to him. That she was nodding, that she was speaking.

“Yes. Please. I would _love_ to see Álfheim.”

And so he smiled at her, a _real_ smile. He could not help but wonder if this mortal woman was causing him to go insane.

()()()

Getting to Álfheim was almost too easy. In the dark of the night, Loki cloaked them, using his best magic to ensure that their movements were silenced. He had warned Jane that Einherjar were perceptive and that she should simply hold his arm until they were safely within the forest beyond the city. Loki did not have to go into detail about what would happen if she attempted to break free.

He didn’t know why he trusted her - why he didn’t assume she would attempt to run away. Perhaps he simply knew that she would not get far. Perhaps he knew that she knew it, too.

It was invigorating. Walking the halls of the palace - even invisible - as himself. It held a sort of childlike wonder in it; he almost could imagine that he _was_ a child. Sneaking around at night when he was unable to sleep; seeking solace in the library, or simply for a stroll - the memories washed over him like a waterfall, and only the firm grip on his arm was the only thing that anchored him to the present. He almost laughed at the absurdity of it - sneaking out of Asgard with _Thor’s_ woman. He knew that Jane was not with him because she wanted to be _with_ him, but because she longed for some semblance of freedom. She longed to see the stars. Loki found it very important that he remember that.

It was easy work to leave the palace. He took the long way, through a not often traveled side-door, using a trick to make the door appear closed when in fact they had opened it to go through it. The Einherjar were none the wiser, and they descended the steps, cool night air brushing their face.

The city was mostly quiet; very few windows were lit and there were only a few drunken stragglers walking the streets. He could hear the chorus of a particularly lewd tavern song and almost laughed. He took her the back way, winding and winding until the buildings were farther and farther apart, and cut through a goat farmer’s yard to take her to the tree-line. His memory of the way to the portal was quickly surfacing as he drew nearer, suddenly able to picture the landmarks he had imprinted into his brain. He could probably get there with his eyes closed, if he wished.

Avoiding getting too close to the house, he tugged her arm toward the forest.

Once inside, after about forty feet, Loki checked his surroundings, releasing Jane’s arm. There was nothing to be heard but the song of the night bugs and the occasional rustle of wind. He uncloaked them, but kept special care to ensure that they were still cloaked from Heimdall. He smirked at his own cleverness, and they began to walk again.

“Where are we going, exactly?” 

Jane’s voice was hushed, as if afraid that it would anger him. Loki cast a glance to her, her features mostly hooded by the darkness. 

“The portal is several hundred paces in. I will guide you.”

“Portal,” she said, confusion in her tone. “Is it like a wormhole?”

He shrugged. “I suppose that one could think of it that way. I like to think of it as a twist of fate.”

“You Asir and your poetry.”

Loki did not have a response for that, deciding not to tell her that he was not Asir, not _really_. He was certain she already knew that, anyway. They kept on, footsteps softened by the underbrush, winding around trees, rocks, and shrubs, with no apparent path to be followed. They continued on until he suddenly halted in front of a blackened stump, holding his hand up to Jane.

“We are here.”

She said nothing, and Loki circled the stump, hands clasped behind his back. 

“ _This_ is the portal?” Jane asked, skeptically.

“Yes. Take my hand.”

He held it out to her, over the stump. She had the most incredulous expression on her face, and he twitched his hand in impatience. Finally, she took it.

_No going back now_ , he told himself, and he stepped onto the stump, pulling her up when he had leverage. Her eyes were closed, face scrunched in a very ridiculous expression, seemingly bracing herself. Loki’s mouth twitched.

“Nothing’s happening,” Jane said.

“Of course not. I wasn’t ready,” he replied. He squeezed her hand and took a deep breath, concentrating. “Now I am.”

And then they fell.

()()()

They emerged, seemingly, through a wall in a very shallow cave. There was nothing dignified about it, and they both fell onto the hard, rocky floor. Momentarily dizzy, Loki pushed himself up, brushing dust and bits of rock from his trousers and helping Jane to her feet.

If he were considerably younger, he may have considered doing some sort of childish hand waving with a feeble _‘Ta-da!’_ but thought better of it. That was more Fandral’s style, anyway. He saw Jane rubbing her lower back, wincing, and he waited for her to collect herself before leading her out of the cave. His eyes took in the bright, blue day and he almost squinted in its brilliance.

He led her to the edge of the tall hill the cave was situated in, not missing the sound of her gasp as she truly took in what there was to see.

Álfheim was beautiful. Not even Loki was invulnerable to _that_ , that startling expanse of horizon: of snow-capped mountains, the green of the rolling forest, the puffy, perfect clouds, and the _air_. That sweet, crisp scent that was nothing more than Álfheim. It was not to be explained. And so he stared.

It had been so many years since he had stood on this hill, looking down into this untouched, unbridled nature. His hair whipped unchecked in the wind, his eyes seemingly unable to take in all there was to see. He traced the familiar curve of the river with his eyes, feeling slightly overwhelmed. After months in the palace with only the short excursion to the market the day he followed Jane, this was almost paralyzing.

He almost forgot her, standing there. But it was her silence that drew his attention back to her. He turned his head to see her fully, eyebrows raised, waiting for response.

It took Loki far too long to realize that she was crying - _crying_! His eyes widened in surprise, and his feet unsteadily found their way into inching him away from her. His left foot stopped, resting uncomfortably on a jagged rock, slightly dazed by her reaction. He had expected something like joy, but this - _this_ was undecipherable. He remembered starkly her reaction after their meeting, flinching slightly because he had let the memory _slip_. She had cried then, too.

“Are you injured?” he asked uneasily, wondering if she had hurt her back more than he realized. Jane quickly swiped her tears away, shaking her head. She opened her mouth, and Loki waited, expectant, but was quickly disappointed - no words issued from her mouth, and he uneasily walked toward her again.

“Then - what?” he pressed. He raised his hand tentatively, meaning to reach out to touch her, but could not think of an appropriate place to find purchase. He swallowed, heavily.

“It’s just…” she started, faltering. She wrapped her arms around herself, not meeting his eye. “It’s - it’s like nothing I could have imagined. I wish…”

Loki was growing impatient with her apparent inability to express herself, but every insult that grew in his throat, ready to come out, simply…died. Like a flame doused with water. He knit his brow, confused.

“I’m just so happy, that’s why I’m crying,” Jane said, and something like a smile spread on her face. “Haven’t you ever been so happy that you cried?”

He stared at her, blankly. _What a ridiculous…_

“No.”

She regarded him, quizzically, and then shrugged. “Maybe it’s a human thing.”

“Obviously.”

There was an awkward, austere silence then. Loki looked away from Jane, back at the landscape, and sighed slightly. He drew in a deep breath, and then turned to Jane again. Her eyes met his, and she smiled shyly - it looked out of place on her expressive face. 

“Are we going to go down there?” she asked uncertainly. Like she expected him to say no - as if she was already accepting the return to her confinement. Loki’s heart did a vile thing, then; a sort of painful beat, or mis-beat, and he resisted the urge to grip his chest. He had heard, on Midgard, of people dying of things called ‘heart attacks’, and rather wondered if this was what that felt like.

“Yes,” he said, and raised his hand.

It didn’t take much, to disguise them. A simple trick of the light, so that anyone who looked their way would not see the second prince of Asgard (he was believed to be dead, after all) but an ordinary Vanr - a passing merchant, even; to her, he did not believe he had to do much, and so he gave her lighter hair and green eyes. Jane, who did not appear to have noticed that he had done any magic at all, was watching his hand warily, as if waiting for it to burst into flames, or something of that sort. Loki gave her a wry smile, but did not elaborate. It was much more fun this way, after all.

“Shall we?” he asked then, and held his arm out to her. She only hesitated for a moment before taking it, and they began their descent down the hill.

The day was actually rather quiet; he heard hardly any sounds beyond the wind and the occasional twitter of a bird that flew from tree to tree. To his honest surprise, Loki did not really know just where they were going. There was much he could show her; he remembered the first time he had come here through his secret door he had discovered a couple caves that were interesting enough, but after quickly glancing at her he did not think that caves would be of much interest to her. He remembered the spring that ran clear as crystal and the tiny, intricate fish that lived within it, but if she wished to see clear water, he could think of four lakes on Asgard that would fit the bill. 

They walked slowly, Loki very much aware of their closeness that wasn’t at all forced and felt more like natural; he wondered if she realized it too, or if he was just being far too sensitive. They neared the bottom of the hill now, the huge trees coming closer and closer, and his eyes tried to seek out the riding path that led to Eythéréttln. And then it dawned on him - of _course_. What could be more interesting to her than an entire town? Nature was one thing - culture another.

As if Jane was reading his thoughts, she asked, “Where are we going?”

Loki slowed their pace. “There is a town beyond the forest named Eythéréttln.” 

He saw Jane’s head turn to look at him out of the corner of his eye, but she said nothing in return. He realized, maybe belatedly, that his response was not at all an answer to her question, and cleared his throat.

“If you should like…we can go there,” he said.

Jane halted, her grip on his arm tight. Not favoring her losing her balance by him resuming his pace, he stopped, too, meeting her gaze with one eyebrow raised.

“Are you serious?” she asked him. He noted her raised brow, her flushed cheeks. Loki cocked his head, then, a smirk crossing his features.

“I rarely say things that I don’t mean, Jane. But if you would rather not, then we can most certainly go back.”

“What? No!” she protested, and then she regarded him curiously. “But…do you really want to go through town looking like…well, _you_?”

Loki realized what she meant, then, and laughed. Not wild or unrefined, but a _true_ laugh; he had almost forgotten what it sounded like in his own ears. And he saw Jane’s features turn from curiosity to some sort of mild amusement, too. She smiled slightly, but her eyes still held question.

“I have put some mild alterations on our appearance,” he said when he could, his free hand swiping his eye. 

She stared at him blankly and said, “I don’t think it worked.”

He held back another laugh, wondering if he was truly going mad. Perhaps it was the air, but suddenly everything felt so much _lighter_. He began to walk again, tugging her only slightly to get her feet moving, too.

“Trust me, Jane. It did.”

She did not reply, apparently either unwilling to argue further or accepting his words. They were nearing the bottom of the hill, now; the great trees of the forest casting grand shadows that they were now engulfed in. He felt her arm tighten in his and heard her make a noise. 

“Oh. My. _God_.”

His brow knit at her words, unable to quite understand why she had said them - perhaps she was still in awe at being on a new realm? They walked a few more paces, and he felt relief at no longer walking downhill. His eyes were scanning the forest line, his mind lost in thought. And then her arm broke free of his and she was running.

For a strange, astonishing moment, Loki was absolutely certain that she was running _from_ him. He stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes following her form. Her dress and hair were flowing from her movement, and his mouth parted in surprise, in inability to _understand_. He raised his hand uncertainly, somehow finding himself unable to decide which piece of magic he knew that would halt her without harming her, when he realized that she had stopped.

He was frazzled, he knew. He pushed his chiding mind aside - _What would you have done if she was actually running from you?_ \- and watched her. She was barely fifty feet away, but realized then just what had caused her sudden reaction. The _trees_.

_Of course_ , he thought again, and began to cross the distance between them. He felt his emotions change as quickly as one would flip through the pages of a book; irritation, relief, and some strange sort of _satisfaction_. He could easily now understand just what she was feeling, probably. And when he finally reached her, she turned to look at him, obviously oblivious to what she had just done to him - and he bit his tongue in efforts to hold back the words that he so desperately wanted to say.

For what would be the point? Saying them would wipe away that easy, joyous look she was giving him, and he found that he did not have the _heart_. 

“Loki - these _trees_!”

He smiled, then, letting his annoyance slip away instantaneously, forgotten as soon as it was gone. He watched Jane hold her arms out against the tree, laughing as she realized that her arms did not even come close to scaling the width of the trunk. 

“I knew they seemed big from up there, but…I didn’t realize _this_!”

Loki found himself unable to reply. He watched her continue to hug the tree for a moment, and then she let go, stepping back to look up. He traced the line of her neck with his eyes, and stepped closer to her.

“They…they are called _traík_ ,” he said, saying the first thing that came to mind that actually made any sense. She lowered her head to look at him, eyebrows perked in interest. “It translates to ‘mighty tree’.”

“Traík,” Jane repeated, slowly. “I like them.”

He let her look for a few moments longer, the wind picking up and dancing around them. And then he held out his arm to her.

“Are you ready, then? Eythéréttln awaits.”

()()()

And so they walked. There wasn’t much talking, at first. Loki was quite aware of the way Jane was looking around her, taking it in. He knew what she saw. The grand forest, the traík, the _green_ of it all. He knew that Midgard had plenty of forests, but he knew that it had nothing like _this_. The soft ground on the path felt spongy beneath his feet, and they kept walking.

Loki didn’t mind the silence. In fact, the silence here was something of a comfort. The sounds of Asgard were nothing but a removed memory, now; if he were alone, he may have been inclined to find a safe spot to lay on the ground and _sleep_. But he felt the distant weight of Jane’s arm in his, and let himself glance at her.

He knew, realistically, that what he was doing was…wrong. Ridiculous, even. But her eyes held so much _light_. She was so full of life, and he could easily grasp just what it was that Thor saw in her - what he found that night, when he was cast to Midgard. Loki swallowed heavily, then. He tried to feel disgust that he was feeling anything other than repulsion for this mortal woman, but found that he could not. And so he looked away.

“Did you spend a lot of time here…before?” Jane asked then, quietly. Loki may not have even heard it, if he weren’t so hyper-aware of her.

“Yes. After I turned twenty, I was permitted to live here at court as an understudy to the king’s mage.” He was surprised at how easily the answer came out - the truth. He blinked, not looking at Jane.

“The king’s…mage?” 

He couldn’t help but smile thinly at her apparent wonder. He tilted his head up, to look at the forest ceiling, and said to the air, “Yes. The Light Elves are not terribly magical, but some are born with the talent. The king - his name is Dofri - invited me when…Frigga went to call, to implore that I study.”

Jane was silent for a moment, and Loki chanced another glance at her. He couldn’t read her expression, but she met his eye.

“What is the mage’s name?”

“Was,” Loki said automatically, and flinched slightly at the memory. “Casáro. His name was Casáro.”

He felt her arm tighten around his, and furrowed his brow at the movement. 

“Were you close?” Jane asked, softly.

Her question took him by some surprise, and despite himself he remembered Casáro fully: his gray eyes, his white hair forever obscured by the hood of his dark robes; the shadow it cast across his straight, narrow nose. The smile on his face when Loki cast every piece of magic Casáro taught him perfectly, no matter how long it took. Loki smiled.

“We were.”

Her grip on his arm tightened further, and Loki was inclined to lean into it, to take it for all it was worth, but he stopped himself. The conversation they were having was startlingly intimate; even more so than the night they had shared with the bottle of wine when she had reached out to touch him - to _hold_ him. He blinked twice, quickly, trying to rid himself of the strange sensation her closeness was causing. 

“How long did you live here?” 

“I’m not sure. I think the better part of a decade. Maybe longer.”

“ _Seriously_?” 

Loki laughed. “Yes, Jane. It is not uncommon for a prince, or any aristocrat for that matter, to spend some time in other realms. It just so happened that I had a purpose to be here at the time.”

“So you left your friends, your family, for ten years? Wasn’t it lonely?”

He very suddenly, very bitterly, wanted to tell her he had no friends - and he certainly had no _family_. But her tone was so curious, so…uncertain, that he couldn’t do it. And as soon as his mind countered the idea that he had friends, he remembered Fandral again: in the throne room, insisting that Loki was still alive (the irony of _that_ was still not lost on him), or that day when Frandral had donned his green cloak, smiling joyously. Loki wondered what Fandral would do now if he saw him as he was with Jane, strolling leisurely through the forests of Álfheim. He wondered if Fandral would still feel quite as loyal.

“The Asir must learn to accept the truths of the Yggdrasil,” Loki said monotonously, as if quoting a history book. “Loneliness is part of that.”

“You’re being ambiguous,” Jane countered, loosening her grip in his arm, but only slightly. “You were only twenty, and you’re like what - a thousand now? You were still so _young_. A baby, even, in the grand time-line of your life. And you were taken to a foreign land and spent a third of your life, at the time, there. Here.”

“I’m not quite seeing your point.”

Jane huffed, obviously exasperated, but not so much that she appeared angry. Loki looked at her, their pace nearing that of a turtle’s. He rather wondered if they would arrive to Eythéréttln before sunset, and that was saying much, as it was not due to set for another two Asgard days or so.

“I don’t even know what my point is, I guess. What I’m trying to say is, I asked you a simple question, and you gave me some cultural…or maybe racial? Whatever, it was philosophical bullshit. And here I am, on Álfheim, with _you_. Am I crazy? I think I have to be.”

She was rambling, and Loki stopped their pretense of walking entirely, pulling his arm out of hers and facing her. Jane looked momentarily startled, looking up to him; their height differences were enough that he realized he probably frightened her, looming like that. He took a step back.

“What ails you?” he asked her then.

She crossed her arms, obviously uncomfortable with the sudden scrutiny, and shrugged.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean exactly what I asked,” Loki responded, his tone slightly acidic despite his efforts to keep it out. “Obviously, something is troubling you. Here we are, on arguably one of the most beautiful realms in the Nine, and you are digressing. Why?”

Jane’s face flushed, and she turned her head away from him, her eyes distant. He studied the line of her profile, trying to give out an air of patience, but found it was very trying indeed.

“I don’t want to piss you off,” she said then, her voice suddenly devoid of its usual firmness. She sounded as if she were shrinking inside of herself.

“What?”

“Nevermind,” she muttered, and shook her head. “Really, I’m fine. I’m beyond overwhelmed, I think. New planet - _realm_ \- and all. Really, I want to thank you for this. You didn’t have to. You could have kept me…there.”

Jane’s voice sounded even more flimsy than before, and Loki’s pulse quickened slightly at her meaning. _There_. In her prison. Her cage. He suddenly felt very small indeed, even if he was looking down to her. It didn’t matter. His stomach did a strange flop, but he could do nothing to control it. He took a deep breath.

“Come, Lady Jane,” Loki said, holding his arm out once again, slightly leaning over in a semblance of a bow. He found it much easier to divert to classic social niceties than to accept, or respond to, her words. If Jane was disappointed at this, she didn’t show it. She linked her arm through his without comment, her eyes strangely shielded, and they began to walk again, with only the sounds of the wind through the trees and their footsteps on the soft dirt path to fill the air.

()()()

_Next chapter, we will be finding out what is going on with Thor - and you may or may not be a little surprised. And then of course, after that, we will be returning to Loki and Jane on their interesting little holiday._

_I used a lot of artistic license with Álfheim. Like a lot. Some of it is taken from actual research, but most of it is just my imagination._

_I hope you enjoyed this, and please don't hesitate to let me know what you think. I love hearing from you guys! :)_


	15. Chapter Fifteen

“There are very few monsters who warrant the fear we have of them.” - Andre Gide

()()()

Chapter Fifteen

()()()

There were not many times in Thor’s life when he could admit that he had been afraid. Certainly, there had been excitement. Or a slight fluttering of nerves. Or even the feeling of trepidation. But fear? Fear was not the emotion of a warrior. It was for the feint of heart, the ill at ease. And Thor knew without a doubt that he was neither of those.

But as he sat on the roof of Stark Tower, with the cold wind rustling through his hair, burning his ears, he stared at the sky and he knew that he was _afraid_. 

It had been eleven days. Eleven days since he had left Asgard, believing that Jane was here, on Midgard. Eleven days since he had stared at the hole in the snow in that strange, cold land and knew that she was _not_ on Midgard at all.

Thor was not stupid. He knew something was amiss. His father had _lied_. And Thor could not try to convince himself otherwise.

But of course he had _tried_. He tried to tell himself that perhaps his father had mistakenly used the Tesseract to send her elsewhere, but he knew his father had full control over the cube. He tried to tell himself that perhaps Jane had landed there after all, that he had missed the tracks, but he knew what he had seen. And he tried to tell himself that perhaps she had landed somewhere else entirely, but SHIELD had their technology; their metal boxes that spewed information out like fountains. Aside from his own landing, there were no other readings from the skies that day. 

Which meant that Jane, for no reason that Thor could fathom, was still on Asgard, and Heimdall would not open the Bifrost to him.

Thor let out an angry sound into the wind, clutching his fists in his lap. He had tried to call to Heimdall several times since then, but to no avail. He felt much like a cat in water - with no way out. And the tight, aching _fear_ that lived in his heart only grew with each passing day.

What happened to Jane? Why was she on Asgard? Why would his father _lie_ to him about this? Why would Heimdall not open the Bifrost - why would his father ban him from returning? _Why_?

His questions sprang to his mind like many prodding fingers in his skull. It _hurt_. It _ached_. And Thor was getting very, very angry.

He felt a warm wetness in his palms, and looked down, opening his fingers. He had clenched his fists so hard that his nails had broken flesh, and he stared numbly at the blood that was gathering there. It didn’t hurt. 

“Hey - I was looking for you.”

He turned his head toward the voice; it was Tony. He had somehow not heard him approach, and Thor made to stand, but Tony sat down next to him, criss-crossed. Thor settled back into his previous position but did not look at Tony. 

“This is probably my favorite view of the city.”

Thor did not respond; he made a sort of non-committal grunt and trained his eye on the skyline. 

“Sometimes I come up here to think when Jarvis gets on my nerves,” Tony went on, not seeming to care or notice that Thor had not replied. “Sometimes my best thinking is done up here.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Thor said despite himself, his image of Tony permanently plastered in his lab fresh in his mind. He and Erik had been working tirelessly, pouring over Jane’s almost illegible notes, to build a Bifrost. It was not going well.

Tony made an undignified sound, and let out a laugh. “It’s true! Some of the new specs on the suit came from a good dose of rooftop thinking.”

Thor couldn’t think of anything to say to that, so he remained silent. 

When Tony started speaking again, his voice was quiet, almost soothing, as if he were speaking to a wounded child.

“Look, I know you’re having a hard time dealing with…being kicked out, and all that. And…as much as I hate the idea, I really think Erik was right -”

Thor cut him off, his tone steadily rising. “No, Tony, I do not like the idea of involving -”

“-Fury. I know, I _know_ you don’t, and I don’t either. But let’s face it, I know I’m a genius, but I’m not _Jane_. I can’t _build_ an Einstein-Rosen bridge. Christ, I’ve _tried_. But I can’t do it, and Fury would know of some people who can get this ball rolling.”

Thor bit his tongue, anger building in his veins. He did not trust Fury; dangling the possibility of torturing his brother aside, Fury had many things that he kept hidden from his teammates. And there were also Jane’s suspicions as to _why_ SHIELD was funding her for her Bifrost work. He pictured Fury orchestrating his way to Asgard, pictured him inside the weapons vault, running his hands up and down the many artifacts, and almost shivered. Thor turned his face to Tony.

“You know how I feel about this.”

“Totally,” Tony said, nodding. “Truly, Thor, I do. And I feel the same. But my hands are tied, here. Even with Erik, it isn’t enough.”

“There _has_ to be another way…”

“You know there _isn’t_.”

Thor didn’t answer immediately. He had looked away from Tony, looking again at the tall buildings, the almost starless sky. His brain felt fogged, and it hurt, and he was getting cold and sore from sitting on the roof for so long. And damn Tony, but he was _right_. But something about it all felt so _wrong_.

“I…” he began, and faltered. He frowned at the realization at what he was about to say. They had gone over this topic many, many times, recounting the story until Thor was sick of thinking about it. But in his own private thoughts, sometimes late at night while he lay awake in bed or his time spent here on the roof, he realized that there was something he was _missing_. There was something very strange going on with his father - which was obvious, given the situation. But Thor felt like there was something _more_. 

“What?”

“I am worried about my father.” 

Thor looked at Tony then, who was looking at him with eyebrows raised.

“I know you are. Something new you have to say?”

“It is…difficult to explain.”

“What about Asgard _isn’t_ difficult to explain?”

Thor sighed and said, “I think there is something…wrong with him.”

Tony’s mouth twitched. “Do explain.”

“He was not himself. I’ve told you that before. But the more time I think on it, the more apparent it is to me. The act of calling Jane and I to Asgard was out of character. He had no love for her the last time we were there. And…after it was over, with Malekith, I approached my father and told him I would not take the throne. I expected…resistance. But I received none.”

Tony paused a beat, obviously thinking on Thor’s words. Then he said, “What are you trying to say, exactly?”

Thor hesitated, but said, “That my mother and brother’s death has unhinged him. That grief has somehow…changed him.”

Tony leaned in, looking Thor full on the face. 

“From what to what?” he asked.

“From…” The words faltered in Thor’s throat. He could only shake his head. He refused to think…refused to truly think about it.

Tony sighed this time, the sound long and exasperated. 

“ _What_ was he like, up there? What does he have to gain by keeping Jane on Asgard? What did he have to gain by sending you away, with Jane still there?”

Thor swallowed heavily. “You are only asking what I have already asked myself. And I do not know, Tony.”

There was a thick, heavy silence then. All that could be heard was Thor’s own heart in his ears. His mind felt even more foggy than before, and the pounding in his head had doubled.

Fandral’s words came to him as quick as lightning before he could even stop them, his pleading face as clear as day in his mind. _“Please, Thor. Loki is my oldest friend. I do not believe that he would allow death so easily. You know what he’s like…”_

“By the gods,” Thor whispered, and realization came crashing down on him like a tidal wave.

“Huh?”

He could say nothing for a moment, his throat was working and working, but no sound came out. His breathing had stopped entirely, and his ears were buzzing with some unspoken emotion he could not name. 

And when he finally had the will to speak, it was two quick, simple syllables. Two syllables that said _everything_ and nothing at all. But as soon as he had said them, he knew them to be true. That there was nothing else as true as the name that came from his lips -

“ _Loki_.”

()()()

“Please tell me you are joking,” Erik said.

Thor stared at him, unable to quite come up with a proper response. How he _wished_ it was a jest - of _course_. But Erik looked between him and Tony, and Thor watched his face cross to something like panic.

“Oh my God.”

The lab lights were startlingly bright, and Thor turned away from the two men to seek some semblance of solace somewhere along the wall. He sighed, heavily, his heart hammering in his chest rather painfully. He wished terribly for Mjölnir, then; to feel its firm power in his hands. It was just across the room where he had left it last, he could _feel_ it calling to him. But he knew that it would get him nowhere, really. He was trapped on Midgard until something like a Bifrost could be built, and at that thought, he sighed again.

“Thor…”

At the sound of Erik saying his name, he turned, looking at them expectantly.

“Are you _sure_? Completely and utterly positive about this?”

“I have no proof of substance, Erik. But…”

“But?” Erik pressed.

“While I was on Asgard, Fandral…he took me from the palace to tell me that he did not think Loki was dead.”

“Fandral?” Tony asked.

“One of the Warriors Three,” Thor said quickly. “Loki’s shield brother, and a friend to us both. He had no proof, either. I myself dismissed him, thinking his belief childish. He had absolute conviction that Loki would not give in to death so easily…he was quite adamant that the fact that because his body was not returned to Asgard, that he was still alive.”

Erik paled. “I didn’t know that.”

“I did not think it was of import at the time. We were in no position to take him with us when we escaped.”

Thor heard Erik mutter something under his breath, and then he turned away from them and began to pace.

“I need to get this straight…” Erik began, and held out his hand, ticking off fingers. “Loki…faked his death on Svartalfheim. He went back to Asgard and…took Odin captive? And he’s been on the throne ever since? And when you and Jane went to Asgard…” He turned to look at Thor, his mouth parted, dropping his hand. “Why would he take Jane? What has he to gain? He must have realized you would find out…” Erik shook his head. “Of course he did. That is why he closed the Bifrost to you.”

_Why would he take Jane?_ Erik’s question bounced around Thor’s head, but his mind only supplied one thing that he would have rather not thought of again - _Perhaps when we are finished here, I’ll pay her a little visit myself._

Thor was watching him with calculating eyes, but it was Tony who spoke next.

“What if Jane somehow found out about Loki?”

Thor faltered at that statement. He tried to imagine the scenarios in which Jane would have found herself staring at Loki’s true face…and his stomach churned.

Tony spoke again. “Maybe the whole thing was a setup, somehow. The test, calling you two to Asgard. Maybe he wanted to make Jane immortal so you would never claim the throne. Although how he thought that would work, I don't know. But isn’t that all he wanted, anyway? Somewhere to rule?”

At his words, Thor swallowed heavily, finding himself nodding. But it did not feel right doing so. For their entire lives, Thor had never known Loki to covet the throne…not until recently, anyway. He crossed his arms, looking between Erik and Tony.

“We are wasting time. I _must_ return to Asgard.”

Erik’s brow knit, and he opened his hands in a gesture of defeat.

“What can we _do_ , Thor? Even with Jane’s notes, we can’t build the Einstein-Rosen Bridge. It requires energy that we just don’t _have_.”

Thor heard his words, but all he could hear was what was unspoken - _We need to bring Fury in on this_.

For the first time that night, Thor felt an insufferable swell of anger explode in his chest like a volcano. With a strangled growl, he turned kicked the leg of one of the metal lab tables nearby, completely severing it from the base, and with a shattering crash, the table tipped down, papers and coffee mugs and pens falling with it. 

It wasn’t enough. He stomped to the other end of the lab where Mjölnir lay against the wall and picked it up. All he could think of was his blinding rage, his anger and disappointment and confusion and _loss_. He gripped the handle tightly in his fingers, and rammed it into the brick wall. 

Tony and Erik were shouting at him, but he could not hear over the sounds of the wall crumbling and groaning from the strength of his blows and the buzzing in his ears. Not satisfied with the damage, he reeled his arm back again and again and again, the brick cracking and dust falling everywhere. It showered him, landing on his hair, his clothes, his skin. And only when he had completely destroyed the wall where he stood did he finally stop.

There was a strange, aching silence in the room. Thor did not hear Tony or Erik, and he numbly dropped Mjölnir with a reverberating _thud_ on the floor. His breathing was strained and heavy. His ears were still buzzing, but he turned to look at the two men, who were standing some distance away, staring at him as if he were something that should be caged up - and he realized, as he looked at the damage he had wrought, that they were not wrong.

“Bring Fury in, if you must,” Thor said. “Bring him and every single person on this realm who can get me back to Asgard. But do it with _haste_.”

And he picked Mjölnir up again, and stomped out of the lab, not even waiting for a response.

()()()

Thor was awoken abruptly in the middle of a dream; the likes of which he remembered perfectly while he was asleep but as soon as he opened his eyes to his room, the morning not quite born, he could only remember the pitted feeling of emptiness and Loki’s hollow eyes. He had no time to think on it, though, because the pounding on the door was bordering commanding.

“Thor, open up.”

He knew that voice. It belonged to Fury, and he scrambled out of bed, not even pausing to put on a shirt. He crossed the room, the carpeted floor jarring his feet, and unlocked the door.

Fury did not give him time to open it. The door flew open, causing Thor to jump back slightly to avoid getting hit with it, and Fury strode in.

“I need you to clarify something to me,” he said, his imposing eye boring in on Thor’s face. “It has been almost _two weeks_ , and you didn’t think it necessary to tell me that one of our own is held hostage on Asgard? That _Loki_ is behind it all?”

Thor opened his mouth, but the words died quickly. He crossed his arms, staring Fury in the face. Thor felt no fear for this man.

But Fury was waiting for an answer. They stood there, assessing each other, until Thor finally spoke.

“It was a personal matter.”

“ _No_ ,” Fury growled. “Jane is on _our_ payroll. And where _Loki_ is concerned, it is a matter of global security.”

Thor scoffed at that, and turned around to open the wardrobe. Pulling a shirt out at random, he threw it on.

“Why have you come here? You think _I_ do not realize what Loki is capable of?”

“No, I don’t think you do.”

Thor grit his teeth and spun around, his hair flying and smacking his ears. “Have _care_ with your words. I have known Loki many more suns than you have ever seen. More than your father’s father, and theirs before that.”

Fury rolled his eyes. “I don’t have time for this bullshit. You didn’t _see_ the things he did, Thor. I watched the footage - he ripped a man’s eye out and _smiled_.”

“Then what _do_ you have time for?” Thor ground out, decidedly ignoring the rest. He did _not_ want to imagine Loki committing acts of horror so early in the morning.

There was a very still silence with that. He stood, wishing very much for his hammer to beat Fury’s face in, but knew that it was not the answer. He wondered why Fury had come to him at all.

“I have my brightest people down in the lab, working through Miss Foster’s notes. I need to know that when we build the Bifrost, you will be prepared to do what you need to.”

Thor crossed his arms again. “Say what you mean to say. _I_ do not have time for word games.”

“I’ll lay it out very simply,” Fury said, crossing his own arms. “You will bring Loki back. As far as I’m concerned, he should have stayed here to begin with - and don’t think it has escaped my notice that he has full rein of the Tesseract while playing king.”

Thor narrowed his eyes, uncrossing his arms, his hands balling up in fists. He was not quite able to believe that Fury would ask such a thing of him. 

“I will _not_.”

“Thor! This isn’t up for discussion! Do you not _realize_ the danger this man poses? He tried to take over our planet! This isn’t a game anymore!”

Thor let out a growl at that, and he crossed the distance between them, his fist aching to make contact with Fury’s face. He stared at him, taking in his resolute expression.

“Loki will face _Asgardian_ justice.”

If Fury was unwary of their closeness, he didn’t show it.

“And how did that turn out last time? If you don’t agree to these terms, then I will send someone else. I am fully prepared to call in Dr. Banner on this one, Thor. Do not _test me_.”

Thor stepped back, only slightly, feeling a strange sort of numbness wash over him at that. He considered Fury’s words - beyond the initial anger he felt. He thought of Jane; her beautiful smile, her lovely eyes. So full of _life_. He thought of Loki taking that away - truly _saw_ it happen in his mind’s eye. Not just by killing her, no. He knew Loki was more clever than _that_. He could make her suffer - he could do it slowly. Thor _knew_ he could.

And for the first time, he realized that his brother, his _true_ brother, was lost. Completely, utterly. This was more than death. Loki had no life left within him, not if he was capable of _this_. And then he thought of Odin - his father. What had Loki done to him? Thor did not believe that Loki would _kill_ him, but…there were many actions Loki had made that Thor could not believe.

“How are you building the Bifrost? Erik said we do not have the power sufficient.”

Fury pursed his lips, not missing Thor’s defeated tone. 

“SHIELD has been doing their own work on Tony’s arc reactor.”

Thor shook his head, knowing Fury’s unspoken meaning. 

“I do not trust you, Fury. You take what you want simply because you are able.” He left out what he was _truly_ thinking - that Loki did things much the same. 

“I don’t care if you trust me. Just tell me you will do what you’re told. Get in there, get Loki and Miss Foster, and come back. We will take care of the rest.”

“And what of my father?”

“Do what you have to with him. Just tell me you will do the rest.”

He watched Fury closely for a minute, trying to understand how anybody could be so cold and calculating. Thor wondered what would cause a man to become this way. He thought of Jane and her pain and anguish when SHIELD took her materials - and more recently, he thought of Jane decidedly never talking about who funded her work, who paid her for her research. He found himself understanding it completely, now.

Thor swallowed heavily, hating himself for the situation; he felt true guilt because he could have stopped this. _All_ of this. If he had only encouraged Loki with his magic instead of calling it useless, if Thor had only dropped his hammer on anyone who spoke ill of his brother. If he had _not_ gone to Jötunheim that day. If he had realized that Loki was slipping, farther and farther with each insult, each triumph Thor had over him. 

And he blinked, and swallowed again.

“Fine. I will do as you say. But _only_ if you swear not to harm him. For all that he has done…he is still my brother.”

And Thor knew, somehow, in the back of his mind, that he would regret agreeing. What pained him most was that he did not know _how_.

()()()

Thor paced in Tony’s tower aimlessly, barely registering that the sun was going down.

He was in the same room as the night that he had first come to tell Tony that Jane was missing; the same room that he and his other teammates had come to retrieve Loki after the battle. Thor thought of Loki then, the way he had turned to see them facing him, ready to strike if he made the wrong move. He was badly injured, badly _defeated_ , and yet he still found it within him to say, _“If it’s all the same to you…I’ll have that drink now.”_

A jest. Truly, if Loki could be summed up in a few words…that was it. It was all a _game_ to him, it seemed. Playing king, attacking Midgard, taking _Jane_. Was there nothing he wouldn’t do? 

Thor slumped down on the couch, this time without the weight of his armor to sag him too deep. He knew that the team of SHIELD scientists were in the lab, working on the Bifrost. He wondered if they would succeed. Fury certainly seemed confident that they would, but Thor had doubts. If they had the means to do it all along, then why did they waste time paying Jane to figure it out? 

He heard the _ding_ of the elevator, and turned his gaze to see who had come up. The metal doors slid open to reveal Tony, looking a little worse for wear.

“I swear to God…” he mumbled, striding into the room and going behind the bar. Thor said nothing and watched him pour two glasses of the amber liquid Tony was so fond of. 

Tony knocked his back without preamble. He poured another glass, and then walked over to Thor, handing him one.

“What troubles you?” Thor asked, taking the glass.

“Now I know why you were so reluctant to bring them in,” Tony said wearily, sitting down on the opposite couch. “Not that I didn’t know all along…”

“Is it not going well?” 

“It _is_ going well, and that’s what bothers me. Fury had my arc reactor prototypes - the ones that fueled my suit in the Battle of Manhattan.” 

Thor did not know what to say to that, so he drank all of the alcohol in his glass.

“He _stole_ them,” Tony went on, obvious anger in his tones. “Whatever the hell they want to call it, it’s _theft_. And this _whole_ time…they had been working on the Einstein-Rosen Bridge, and none of us were any the wiser.”

“He did tell me that his people had been doing work on your arc reactor.”

Tony lifted an eyebrow at that, but said nothing for a moment. Thor did not know exactly what to say. He knew Tony had little love for Fury even before any of this happened.

“The only reason I’m not suiting up and blasting that man into space is because I know we need him.”

“I know,” Thor said. “I realize that this must be hard for you. You have my thanks.”

Tony waved his hand, dismissing the words. “We all want Jane back. I know I didn’t know her very well, but Erik loves her - _you_ love her. What I’m concerned about right now is _Loki_. Is it true Fury is demanding Loki be brought here?”

“Yes.”

“He wouldn’t tell me in so many words, but I have a knack at reading between the lines. As if I wouldn’t find out anyway. Are you going to do it?”

Thor nodded, and dipped his head. He suddenly wished he had more alcohol to numb the situation a bit. 

As if Tony read his mind, he stood and went back to the bar, bringing the bottle back with him. He poured Thor another glass, and sat again.

“You aren’t exactly reassuring me, Thor. I know I am not the biggest fan of Fury right now, but I can kind of see his angle,” Tony said then, taking another shot. Thor followed suit, relishing in the smooth liquid warming his belly.

Thor considered his words. He trusted Tony; over the past twelve days he had come to appreciate his dedication and effort in trying to get the Bifrost built. Thor did not understand Midgardian science, but he did know that Tony was doing his best. But his words came as a small shock, because Thor could not fathom why anybody would think that Midgard was the proper place for Loki. The only prison that could hold him down was on Asgard, and Thor almost flinched at the thought that it was _he_ who let his brother out. 

“Explain what you mean. Loki is formidable, and I do not think that there is anywhere on Midgard that could hold him.”

“Trust me - SHIELD has tons of creative ways to restrain people. They built the cell on the helicarrior for the _Hulk_. I think they can handle Loki. And it’s not even about that for me, really. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’d love him to get what’s coming…” Tony faltered at that, noticing Thor’s gaze darkening. “But it’s not about that. It’s about keeping someone dangerous somewhere where they can’t destroy things.”

Thor’s tone held warning. “Tony -”

But Tony cut him off. “Don’t even try to argue with me about this, Thor. You _know_ Loki is dangerous. You know what he can do. You’ve _seen_ him destroy the better part of Manhattan. This is _my_ home. And I don’t like the idea of him with full control over the Tesseract. Who knows what he is planning up there? It could literally be _anything_. How do you know he’s not finding another army for round two?”

Thor sighed at that, knowing that he had been backed into a metaphorical corner.

“Please, Tony. I do not wish to speak of my brother any longer tonight. My heart is heavy enough with the knowledge of what I must do.”

Tony ran a hand through his hair, and rose off of the couch. He stood for a moment, looking at Thor, with an expression on his face that Thor couldn’t read.

“Just promise me you’ll _think_ about that, when you go to Asgard. If you get cold feet up there, think about us. Midgard, whatever you want to call it. I know he’s your brother, but he seems bent on hurting you and everything you care about. That’s all I can ask.”

And with that, he turned and strode toward the elevator, pushing the button on the wall. Thor heard the _ding_ followed by the doors sliding open, and he looked away as Tony went inside.

Thor was alone, with nothing but his strangely aching heart to keep him company.

()()()

_Well, I really only intended this to be about 3,500 words, but somehow it turned into 4,800..._

_Next up, we return to Jane and Loki :) The plot is thickening!_

_Leave a comment. I like to know what you guys think :)_


	16. Chapter Sixteen

“Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live.” - Norman Cousins

()()()

Chapter Sixteen

()()()

The sun would not set for many, many more hours, but Loki knew that Jane was tired. Her previous energy fueled by the rush of discovery in this new realm had dissipated after several hours of trekking along the path. Their earlier chatter had faded into silence, and it had been some time since he had heard her speak.

She was no longer gripping his arm, but trailing closely and slowly behind him. He could hear her dragging her feet in the dirt, and he stopped in his tracks, holding his arm out to stop her. He turned his head to the right, his eyes searching the tree line.

“We’ll make camp,” Loki said. “We have a couple more hours to go before we reach Eythéréttln, but I rather think you’re about to fall where you stand.”

Jane didn’t reply, and he gestured for her to follow him into the tree line. He had not seen anybody so far since they arrived on the realm, but he did not much fancy a night patrol finding them at any rate. He went a couple hundred feet in, carefully guiding Jane around the traík and stumps and shrubs and mud until he found a suitable clearing.

“Here?” she asked.

Loki didn’t answer; instead he raised his hand and brought forth two sleeping rolls and a basket of jerky and bread that he had brought along in case something like this happened. He sat on one of the sleeping rolls and opened the basket, removing a roll and breaking it into two.

Jane looked like she didn’t quite understand what was going on. He regarded her face, her tired eyes. And he held out a piece of bread.

“Come. Eat this and rest.”

She came forward and took it from his hand, tentatively, and then sat on the empty sleeping roll, eyes looking dazed and regarding the clearing as if she had never seen anything like it.

“Is it safe here?”

Loki let out a small sigh, taking a bite of his own half of the roll. His own eyes trailed around the clearing, finding himself wondering on her question. He had spent years on this realm, and of course there was nothing there that could harm _him_. But as he regarded Jane again, her thin frame and delicate hands picking at the bread he had given her, he could understand her discomfort.

“You are perfectly safe.”

She said nothing to this and began to eat. There was silence, for a time, while they finished the rest of the provisions he had brought. He retrieved a skin of water and handed it to her without comment.

Suddenly weary, Loki crawled into his sleeping roll, wishing for darkness. But he knew there was nothing for it. He heard the sounds of Jane moving, and assuming she was tucking in, too, he rolled over and saw her standing.

“What are you doing?” he asked, eyebrows raised. He watched her face color at his question and he made to sit up.

“I…I have to use the bathroom. You aren’t going to follow me, are you?”

Loki stopped mid-movement and began to laugh.

“No…I don’t think I will,” he said, laying back down. “Try not to hurt yourself.”

Jane made a strange noise with her throat and began to walk into the forest. Satisfied that she was not going in the direction of the path, he closed his eyes and tried to relax.

But of course, he could not. He squeezed his eyes so tightly that he began to see stars, willing his mind to concentrate on only that, but it was incredibly difficult. He scoffed and took a deep breath, wondering how he could command magic but not his _thoughts_. 

He wondered, vaguely, if Jane would try to escape - to use his disinclination in following her while she relieved herself to her advantage and run off. He wondered _why_ she was so…amiable towards him. It was difficult for him to truly think about. And as he lay there on the cool, hard ground, he wondered why he had brought her here at all.

“Loneliness is the basest of conditions,” Casáro had told him once. Loki had knit his brow, he remembered, not understanding what Casáro had meant. 

“That cannot be true,” Loki had said. He could not imagine a life with nobody else. He saw a life alone flash before his eyes: a birdless sky, an empty palace, a street without travelers. It left him feeling deadened. Void.

But Casáro only smiled, lifted his hand, and froze one of the flowerbeds in the garden - a thin layer of ice had formed itself over every flower, every leaf, every rock. Loki had stared, stunned by the sheer finality of the action. And he had never seen anything more beautiful.

“Loneliness strengthens you, Loki. Loneliness soothes and heals. Or it can consume you; it can cause pain. It can destroy hearts and homes. It can ravage and enslave. But only if you let it.”

“Are you okay?” Loki heard, jarring him out of his memory. His eyes snapped open and he saw Jane’s face peering at him. He sat up, too quickly, because she jumped back as if she had been burned.

“Do you make it a habit to startle people?” he snapped before he could stop himself. Jane’s face colored again, and she shrugged slightly, a stark contrast to the worry that was etching across her features.

“You’re crying.”

Loki’s hand snaked out of his sleeping roll of its own accord, brushing his cheek. He was numbly surprised to find wetness there, and he looked away from her.

“Do not trouble yourself. Lay down and _sleep_ ,” he grit out.

He lay back again, ignoring the fact that she had not moved. He forced himself to listen to the wind and birds and the distant sound of a creek, decidedly ignoring _her_. She finally moved to her own sleeping roll, and he suddenly wished that he had spread them further apart. 

Quickly, he wiped away the rest of the tears that had fallen. He felt a dim ache in his chest as he thought again of Casáro’s face, his wit and magic and regal stance.

Loki’s ears perked when he heard a strange sound…and he realized that Jane was humming. He rolled over, prepared to tell her to stop, but something about the tune made him falter immediately. Her back was to him, and he could see nothing else. 

“What is that?” he asked quietly.

Jane stiffened, as if surprised that Loki had heard.

“It’s nothing. I’m sorry to disturb you.”

Her tone was deflated - as if reciting something terribly mundane. His brow furrowed in worry despite himself.

“You were not. Tell me what you were singing. _Please_.”

Jane rolled over and looked straight at him, her gaze intense. Loki refused to feel embarrassed that he had just said _please_ to a mortal. His heart felt desperately heavy at her look, though, and he almost looked away - memories of that _dream_ creeping uncomfortably in his mind.

“It’s just a song. From home. I…well, sometimes singing helps me sleep. Helps me remember who I am.”

His mouth felt terribly dry at her words - the decided weight of them. 

“Explain what you mean.”

She made a sort of half shrug with her shoulders and broke their eye contact, seemingly focusing on the grass between them.

“Being locked up can make you go crazy.”

Her tone had gone from heavy to light - as if she was suddenly talking about the weather and _not_ what Loki had done to her. It _hurt_. It was as if each word she spoke was a dagger aimed straight at him, and he almost flinched. He remembered his own time locked up under Asgard; he remembered his own tactics to keep control. He suddenly was almost consumed with a desire to touch her - to hold her, to catch the scent of her hair and feel her breath on his neck. To feel her pulse beneath his fingers. To show her he was not everything that he had already shown her he was.

Instead, he asked, “Does that song have words?”

Jane only sounded mildly surprised when she said, “Yes.”

“Please,” Loki said lightly, ignoring his pride rearing its ugly head in protest at his use of the word _please_ once again. “Indulge me. I have not much experience with Midgardian music.”

“I’m…I’m not much of a singer.”

Her face was coloring again, and Loki held back the grin that very much wished to creep across his face. He knew not why he wanted to hear her sing it at all, but now that he did, he could think of little else.

“Come now, Jane,” he said, letting himself sound slightly exasperated for effect. “Let’s hear it. I have a strong love for the arts.”

Jane raised an eyebrow at that, but had no further protests to give, apparently. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, seemingly bracing herself. And when she finally opened her mouth and began to sing, Loki forgot about everything else. 

“ _I took the midnight train to see you, but you were not there at all, you were not there at all…_ ”

And there was nothing else to Loki then, but the sound of her voice. It was untrained and unassuming, slightly breathy and not defined, but he decided in that moment that he had never heard anything more _beautiful_. 

“ _Well the birds and the bees and the stones and the leaves and the woods are gone, I can see that the woods are gone, I can see that the woods are gone…_ ”

Her brow had knit, her eyes still closed, and he could see that this song made her feel emotion beyond the words. Her voice grew in strength, the words more defined and less breathy. He had to remind himself to breathe - in and out. The world had suddenly shrunk to this tiny patch of earth, and he found himself halfway sitting up, his hand fisting in the material of his sleeping roll.

“ _Well, the road to your house was snowy and white, untraveled, I heard the crust unravel, felt the crust unravel under my feet… And the way you are now, calm as a breeze, and the way you sometimes hit me makes me fall in at my knees…_ ”

Loki’s ears were buzzing. His breath caught in his throat, and he had no idea what he was doing or why he was doing it, but he rose to his feet, causing Jane to open her eyes and slightly jump.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

He wished he had an answer to that. But he simply stood there, awkwardly, looking down at her, and tried to find the will to open his throat and form words that would make some sort of sense.

“I…” he faltered, his hands forming in fists at his sides. He attempted to find a way to look less imposing…and sat back down on his sleeping roll. 

“Was it that bad?”

He wanted to laugh. He wanted to tell her that she could not be farther from the truth. That he had never heard anything more ethereal, that her voice had entered his very _soul_ and caressed it. That he wanted nothing more than to know her touch.

Instead, he said, “No. Your song was moving. It was…pleasing.”

She still looked uneasy. “It’s really a sad song.”

_Was it_? Loki tried to remember the actual _words_ , but found he could not. The tune was haunting enough, he mused. He lay back down and gave a noncommittal sound, unsure of what to say now.

There was a heavy silence then, and he forced himself to close his eyes. But the memory of her voice was still resting presently in his mind, and he found himself wondering if she had ever sang like that to Thor. 

His inner voice scoffed at that, at the mere idea of his not-brother. What did it matter what Jane and Thor do together? _Did_ , he corrected himself. _And might still do_. And for the first time since any of this happened, he let himself truly wonder what he was going to do with Jane. _Truly_ \- long term. 

He thought of all of it. Her finding him in the middle of the night, he taking away her ability to move and shoving her in that room. The way he had physically harmed her, the sound of her shoulder yanking out of place. The meeting, the stunned look in her eyes when the memory slipped. 

“What did you see?” Loki asked aloud, knowing that he would regret it as soon as the words slipped out of his mouth.

“What do you mean?”

“That night. When I showed you Álfheim. You said you saw my heart.” He paused, seemingly bracing himself. And when he spoke again, his voice was as quiet as the wind lightly stirring around his face. “What was in it, I wonder?”

Jane was quiet for so long, he began to wonder if she would answer at all. And just as he was about to give up, she spoke.

“I don’t know how to answer your question, Loki.”

He resisted the urge to roll over and face her, because he did not want her to see the obvious desperation in his face. 

“Answer how you want. It is not exactly like I can slam a door in your face this time.”

She let out a strange sound, something like a laugh. And after another long silence, she finally answered him.

“I told you what I saw before. Pain, sadness. I felt it in myself, for that moment. It hurt. I saw…everything. Every loss, pain, happiness…every joy and conquest and desire you ever had. I saw it but I didn’t. It was gone as soon as it came.”

At her words, Loki stopped breathing, unable to truly accept what she had just said. He had never experienced a slip before and had no real knowledge of what it actually caused. He had seen his own share of her mind during it but was so shocked at his own failure to truly _look_. And all this time…she had known it all. Every part of him.

He shuddered.

“Loki?”

“So that explains why you never ask me anything of import. You already know.” His voice was flat, unable to really put emotion behind it. He had never felt more vulnerable, and he still refused to turn and look at her.

“No, Loki. I don’t know _everything_. I don’t understand your magic. I don’t know what your favorite color is, or where you go to escape reality, or…or what you see when you look at the sky. But I do know that you are lonely, and sad, and afraid.”

“Have _care_ ,” Loki said suddenly. “You know not of which you speak.”

She laughed, a biting sound. It was so unlike her that Loki almost jumped.

“But I _do_ ,” she said quickly. “That’s the thing. And you’ve known that along, haven’t you? But obviously you refused to admit it. It’s easy to lock me away since that’s what you do to all your problems. You lock them away and hope they disappear.”

At her words, a growl escaped his throat and he tore himself out of his sleeping bag, his skin feeling suddenly hot and cold at the same time - it was almost unbearable. Jane followed suit, the fabric of her dress swishing violently, and she had no fear on her face at all as she regarded him coolly.

“No door to slam,” she said, almost sadly. “But you could still leave me here, I suppose.”

Somewhere deep in his mind, Loki very ferociously wondered if somehow, this was a dream. All of it. His life from the point of capture on Midgard after his failed attempt to rule to _now_. It seemed too surreal: Álfheim, Jane, pretending to be Odin. And he realized that he was breathing quite heavily and forced himself to stop.

“And what would happen to you if I did that?” he spat. “ _If_ you managed to find the path, what would you do when you got to town? No money, no sense of the culture and decidedly _not_ Álfheimr. You wouldn’t last a week - certainly not in this realm’s sense of the word.”

“You’re so predictable.”

Loki stared at her, stunned. 

“ _What_?” he asked.

Jane narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms.

“This game you always play with me. It’s predictable. I say something you don’t like, so you lash out. And honestly, it’s getting old.”

He heard the words…but they didn’t make sense. He continued to stare at her, unable to comprehend what she was saying.

“You should be _thanking_ me, honestly. That I don’t ask you questions - that I don’t force you to tell me to explain what I saw. And I know I could. But I don’t.”

“You…” Loki started. And then he stopped. 

“What? Nothing to say?” Jane bit out, scathingly. “What did they call you on Asgard…you know, while everyone thought you were alive? _Silvertongue_? Apparently not so much.”

Something about this did not seem right. His mind was slow to recognize it. Loki continued to stare at her, unable to feel much of…anything. He knew she was goading him, purposefully. Trying to get a rise out of him. And he couldn’t comprehend it. The anger that had brought him to his feet was replaced by a strong sense of unease. He finally looked away, biting his lip, unable to think of anything to say.

_What happened? Silver tongue turned to lead?_

He heard her approach him, and he flicked his gaze back at her warily. Her face was positively livid, her cheeks reddening from anger. He almost stepped back, but found that he could not control his legs.

“What do you want from me?”

Her question was quiet and unhurried. Precise. Her eyes shone then - unshed tears. It was difficult to behold. And he had no idea what to say.

“Why won’t you answer? What do you want from me? Why did you take me at all? Why didn’t you just send us both back to Earth?”

Her questions were louder, and hurried now. Demanding. And he opened his mouth and said the only thing that he could.

“I…don’t know.”

She broke their gaze at that, momentarily. And then before he knew it was coming, she slapped him.

The sound of her hand making contact with his cheek was loud - far louder than was merited, he found himself thinking. How could her mortal hand cause such a noise against his flesh? And it _stung_. She had hit him much harder than the last time - the day he saved her life. Loki met her eye, surprised and abashed, and raised his own hand to his face tentatively. It was warm.

“I thought it would be easy, you know. Being your prisoner. I actually thought I could…I don’t know. _Care_ for you, somehow. Care for you without it messing with my head. And you know what they call this? _Stockholm Syndrome_.”

She was crying, then. Loki did not have to understand what ‘Stockholm Syndrome’ was to know from her tone of voice that it was not good. And perhaps for the first time since all of this began, he felt true, unadulterated _remorse_ wash over him. It was threatening to take the breath from his lungs; it was blinding and jarring and it _hurt_.

_Sentiment_.

And he wasn’t sure _why_ , but her words stung him worse than the slap to his face or even the knowledge that she _knew_ him. Knew his heart, as she called it. And in the blinding sunlight of Álfheim, Loki closed his eyes and wished he were somewhere else - anywhere else. That he could turn the hourglass upside down and go back. That he could change it all - any of it, any of it at all. Anything to avoid this. To escape _this_.

When he finally opened his eyes, his vision was blurry and he blinked irritably to clear it. Jane had turned away from him, but had not stepped back. He vaguely wondered where his conviction went - why he hadn’t defended himself. Why he hadn’t been angry at her confession. 

“You know…” she started, wiping her eyes and turning to look at him again. “Thor never believed you were a villain. He never said anything against you. He _missed_ you. He…” She swallowed, obviously trying to gather himself. 

Loki could not feel angry at the mention of Thor. There was no room for it beyond the numbness.

“He never talked about the things you did wrong. He only would talk about the good times. The magic, the pranks you would play on everyone, the ale you drank and the songs you sang. Never did he talk about New York. Or Jötunheim.”

Hearing such a vile word escape her mouth made him flinch, visibly.

“Yeah - I know about that. Not just from…what I saw. He told me that stuff, too. He…he saw goodness in you, Loki. Sometimes I think I see it, too. But then it disappears.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Loki asked, actually curious. He had long stopped bracing himself to move away from her, to distance them. Jane only slightly hesitated before reaching out and grasping his upper arm. Her touch was soft and warm, and he found himself torn between jerking away from it and reaching out and pulling her closer. 

_What is happening to me_? 

“Because…because I think you should know. Because I don’t…I don’t hate you. And neither does Thor.”

He decided to ignore this, pushing thoughts of Thor away.

“What is Stockholm Syndrome?” The words felt foreign on his tongue, and she dropped her hand from his arm.

“It’s when a hostage develops…a bond with the captor. Feelings of empathy and sympathy. Even if the captor has been abusive. _Especially_ if, I guess.”

Jane’s tone was bitter, and Loki tried to swallow. His mouth was too dry to merit the action, though. And he finally stepped away from her, turning his back and taking some paces to the edge of the clearing.

“And you think this has happened to you?” Loki asked thickly, uncertain why it was so difficult to ask such a simple question. He heard Jane’s footsteps, coming closer to him, and he turned to find himself as close to her as he was before he had walked away. She was peering up at him as if she had never seen him clearly before. As if he were some sort of puzzle she was intent on solving.

“I really don’t know. I only said that because I was upset and…it has crossed my mind before. But last time we met, you saved me. Twice. I don’t really think you would have taken me if I hadn’t discovered your secret. And I really don’t think you _want_ this anymore than I do. And -”

Loki grabbed her, then, not thinking of implications or consequences or what it would look like if someone could see. He pulled her to him, as close and tightly as he could without physically hurting her. He wrapped his arms around her small frame, embracing her as if his life depended on it - he could feel her thumping heart through his thin tunic, and all he could do was _feel_. 

“I am sorry,” he said hoarsely. “I am _so_ sorry.”

Jane did not reply. He could feel her shaking, but he also felt her grip tightly at him. She truly was so very small, in comparison to him. And he felt yet another pang of guilt flow through his veins at the remembrance that he had hurt her so badly. 

And so he said again, “I am _sorry_.”

Her voice was muffled, but he heard it just the same. “Loki…what are you apologizing for, exactly?”

“ _Everything_ ,” he said forcefully. He finally released the embrace, placing his hands on her shoulders and pushing her back, just enough to slightly bend and look at her square in the face. He tried to rid the memories of his dream as he did so, and his voice only slightly shook as he said, “I won’t put you back in that room. When…when we go back, I’ll let you go. I’ll send you to Midgard, if that is what you wish. Just…let me show you Eythéréttln first.”

She looked slightly dazed as she took in his words. He could barely believe he had said them himself. But he knew that he could not keep her forever, not like this. 

“You…you’ll send me home?”

“Yes. I realize now that I gain nothing by holding you here. I have already closed the Bifrost to Thor. Even if he knows me to be on the throne, he will be unable to come back.”

Jane nodded, but Loki saw her eyes flash with something - he could not figure out what it was.

“Then yes. I accept,” she said quietly.

At that, he released her completely, dropping his hands to his sides and returned to his sleeping roll, suddenly feeling overwhelmingly fatigued. 

He lay there, waiting for the sounds of Jane returning to hers. He refused to rethink his decision. He knew in the depths of his soul that it was wrong to keep her here, and he sighed slightly into the fabric beneath him. The sun was still blindingly bright, and he rolled over just as he felt fingers on his face - his eyes snapped open and he was looking at Jane’s slippered feet.

She tucked some stray hair behind his ear, so softly it gave him shivers completely down his neck. He said nothing as her fingers lingered too long once they had completed the movement, and said nothing as she stood.

“Thank you, Loki.”

And that was all she said. He lay awake for many hours, long after he heard her breaths slow once she had given into sleep. The only thing he could feel even as sleep claimed him as one of its own was the deep, unsettling feeling of _loss_.

()()()

_The song Jane sings is called ‘The Woods Are Gone’ by Solander. That and ‘Portmanteau’ by Flecs were something of inspiration for me for this chapter. I don’t often do music with writing, but this time it happened. Give them a go if you want :) They can be found on the BIRP Playlist for Jan 2014._

_Thanks to all my readers and commenters. You guys rock!_


	17. Chapter Seventeen

“Let us all be brave enough to die the death of a martyr, but let no one lust for martyrdom.” - Mahatma Gandhi

()()()

Chapter Seventeen

()()()

When Loki opened his eyes, it was to complete darkness.

There was something in his mind that told him that this was wrong. That Álfheim’s sun could not have possibly set. And he jerked up, eyes adjusting to this sudden darkness, wary of attack, instinctively looking for Jane in her sleeping roll. 

But he was not in the clearing at all.

He found himself in his own bed, as himself, as a child. How he knew this, he couldn’t be certain. Jane was nowhere to be seen, and he tried to get up, to get out of the cocoon of warmth, but found that he could not. And so he fruitlessly tried to look for her, to seek her out in the darkness. But the more the looked, the harder it was to remember just what he was looking for. Eventually, Loki quit looking entirely, suddenly feeling weakened and tired.

He raised his hands, his eyes adjusting enough to see their outline before his face. He gripped them into fists, their shape seeming impossibly small.

“Loki…”

He jumped. The voice was familiar. So familiar, it may as well have been a part of himself. 

“Mother,” he called out, his own voice sounding strange in his ears. Young, feeble. 

And then Frigga was there, sitting on the edge of his bed, raising her hands push him back against the pillow. She brushed his hair back, smoothed her thumbs along his temples. He resisted the urge to close his eyes, to drift back to sleep. He stared at her, not even allowing himself to blink.

“Mother,” he said softly. “You are my mother.”

He wanted to say more, but her voice cut him off. She was now smoothing the blanket around him, tucking him in.

“I am. And you are my son. Nothing will change that, Loki.”

He always had loved the way she said his name. Not like the others. Not with scorn, or disappointment, or uncertainty. His mother was never uncertain when it came to him. He watched her, her calm face, her golden hair. 

“I’m sorry I broke the vase,” he said impulsively, remembering the incident from earlier. His fingers tingled in remembrance. His ears perked at the memory of the shattering crystal. And his heart lurched when he realized that he had no control over it at all.

His mother didn’t answer for a moment. She put her hands in her lap, folding them gracefully. 

“Do not apologize for what you cannot control. If I am not mistaken, it was your brother who pushed you into anger.”

“That may be true,” Loki said, “But am I truly unable to control this… _magic_?”

The word sounded uneasy in his mouth. But he had no other word to ascribe to the ability that he had. Shattering vases when he got angry. Flinging mud when Thor called him a _quivering maid_ one too many times. Suddenly disappearing in the middle of the study when his father was scolding him for skipping his weapons training.

“You are not unable. In fact, magic is something that can be cultivated. I have spoken with your father, and he has agreed that it is time to send you to Folke.”

Loki sat up, excitement in his veins.

“Who is that?”

“A mage that lives in the mountains. He will help you.”

At her words, Loki’s imagination flourished. He imagined a lean, robed man with ocean eyes, light pouring from his fingertips. He imagined himself, strong and proud, dazzling the court with his magic. Of Thor looking on with envy and worship. Of his father smiling, praising him for his power.

“When?” Loki asked, smiling with excitement.

“Three days. You will be back for your birthday.”

His mother smiled, but Loki saw sadness there. He slumped back against his pillow, slightly defeated. Six months was all he would be there? Was that enough time to learn everything he needed to know? He found it hard to believe, but trusted his mother regardless.

He felt her hand, warm and soothing, against his forehead. Brushing his hair back again, and he closed his eyes to the touch. His excitement was ebbing away, replaced with calm exhaustion, and he almost lulled off to sleep.

“Not a monster after all.”

Loki’s eyes flew open. His mother was gone. And he knew that the voice was not hers, anyway. Still feminine, but strangely accented. Familiar.

He sat up, throwing the bed covers aside, suddenly aware that he was fully grown again - and along with it came the weight of knowledge, of memory, of the sensation of falling. Falling from the Bridge, falling straight into Thanos’s arms.

He almost succumbed to it then, the fall. He almost let himself fall again. To simply slip through the bed, no longer tangible but weightless, to fall through the floor and down, down, through the earth of Asgard until there was nothing left to fall through but the blackest pits of space. He almost welcomed the cosmos. Maybe it would have been like a second chance. Maybe he would slice The Other’s neck before it had a chance to gurgle out a single word. 

Reflex had his hand searching for his dagger, but he found that he was not clothed. His hand splayed awkwardly against his bare chest, his skin heated and tingling.

“Loki…”

He squeezed his eyes shut, wondering when this would end. 

“Who are you?” he asked, not even bothering to look.

He felt weight on the bed, felt the strange sensation of breath against his neck. He jerked away instinctively, opening his eyes and seeing brown, pink, blue. A woman was gripping his arms, and when she lifted her head to meet his eye, his own breath hitched in his throat.

Jane. The memory of her name sprang to life in his head, and his mind was overloaded with images of her: laughing, crying, smiling, talking. Hugging a tree much larger than herself. Holding her hand out in the archaic gesture of magic, wonder in her eyes. Holding his arm, staring into his face, eyes full of fear and longing.

_Longing_. His brain supplied the word, but he found that he could not quite understand its meaning.

He watched her then. Her hands were still gripping her arms, and she was pulling herself closer. She drew herself up, pulled herself before him, seemingly ignorant or uncaring of the fact that he was naked. He waited for the sense of vulnerability, for the instinct to cover himself, but it did not come.

“What is happening?” he asked her.

“I need you,” she whispered, and then all he felt was warmth. From her, from her hands that had found a place on his sternum, pressing lightly. He felt the pads of her fingers begin to move, down, lightly trailing. When they reached his navel, they spread apart, resting at his sides. He wanted to crane into the touch, but found his body was torn between which side to lean into. He watched her smile slightly, and felt her hands slide down and grip the bones of each side of his hip.

“Need…” he rasped out, unable to finish the sentence. He could not remember ever reacting to a woman’s touch this way. He felt the building heat, the burning wave of desire wash through him. He shamelessly gripped one of her hands, willing it towards the obvious place, but her grip was like iron, unmoving.

And then her mouth was on his, warm and inviting and desperate. He felt his lips part, felt her bite lightly down on his bottom lip before gliding her tongue in his mouth swiftly, expertly. He gasped, then, or moaned - he wasn’t sure and it didn’t matter anyway. His hands snapped to her face, to cup her jaw, to run through her hair. Nothing else mattered but this. It was as if her mouth was made for this single action, as if his hands were designed to fit perfectly against her face.

And it was over before it even really began. Jane had evaporated, his hands falling through the air to grip where she had once been. He cried out, angry and confused, not letting reasonable thought surface as he clawed out of bed. The cool air coupled with his skin as he moved, causing gooseflesh to raise in protest.

“Jane?” he called, searching for a pair of trousers. Anything. He raised his hand, willing some to appear. But he could not create something out of nothing, and gave up.

“Loki,” he heard, and he spun around. Jane’s voice, but with a strange edge. His eyes darted wildly around the empty room, touching along the walls, the ornate tapestry hanging on the wall. 

“Where have you gone to?” he asked lamely.

Loki heard her laugh, a delicate, ethereal sound. So unlike her _true_ laugh. And it was that thought that raised him to semi-consciousness, that thought alone that told him none of this was real. He struggled for a moment, trying to decide if he should keep looking or to allow himself to stir in that _other_ place, that place on the hard ground where the sun shone for days on end.

“Don’t be afraid.”

Her words angered him, and he almost forgot that this was only a dream.

“I’m _never_ afraid,” he grit out, finding strange comfort in sliding into familiar anger. “It would serve you well to remember that.”

Her heard her _tsk_ at that. He remembered one of his tutors for history - an old, old woman, older than he had ever seen at the time. She would always _tsk_ like that, when he dozed off to sleep during her lessons.

Jane’s disembodied voice flowed through the room again. 

“Don’t forget that I’ve seen your heart. You have experienced fear beyond any that _I_ have ever felt.”

Loki opened his mouth to reply, but was unable to do so. He felt himself stirring, in that _other_ place, and then the dream was no more.

()()()

Loki sat up, groggy and uncertain. He swept his eyes to the figure beside him, registering that Jane was, indeed, asleep.

He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to cup the dream in a place where it would not escape. It was useless, and all he was left with was a feeling of uneasiness. As if he were haunted, but could not put a true shape to what it was that frightened him.

He could only remember snippets. The beginning, he was certain, was a memory. Breaking the vase, being sent to Folke a few days later. That was true, it had happened. Loki tried not to think too hard on Frigga. He couldn’t quite remember if he had actually said _‘you’re my mother’_ like that, but it did not really matter. 

It was a dream. He looked to Jane again, almost with a sense of shame. She slept so soundly, not knowing what Loki had dreamed of. Not knowing how much he was beginning to ache for her in a way that he never would have thought possible. 

_But she is_ Thor’s _woman_ , he told himself again and again. _And you are his monstrous not-brother. Nobody would ever desire you, and especially not_ her.

Loki looked away from her sleeping form. He pushed the dream back, as far back as he could manage. 

He stood, stretching his now aching arms and decided to find the creek he heard, somewhere beyond the clearing. It couldn’t be far, and he was in desperate need of distraction.

Silently padding his way toward the source of the sound, Loki tried to think of anything but her. Anything but the dream, and their actual exchange the previous night. _If it could be called that_ , he thought, looking to the ever bright sky. And even in the silence and solitude the traík offered with their huge, austere trunks and the rush of greenery at his feet, he felt some semblance of loss of power within himself. 

He could not think too much on it. It was not anything to be changed. He said the words - and he _would_ send her back. He did not know how it happened, this shift within him - he knew not whence this _benevolence_ came. But now that it was here, it was like a never ending prod in the back of his mind; a painful prick of many needles that constantly reminded him that he had gone too far. 

For he should have never taken her in the first place; that was clear to him now. Clear as the sky above him - but he knew that he could not change the past. He could change his form, change the particles around him and create whatever he wished to see, but he could not change what he had already done. He could only hope to end it before it got any worse.

And yet, he had no clarity within himself. No real semblance of definition. He could still feel her shaking in his arms, could still feel her touch lingering on his neck. Real _and_ not real.

How long had it been since he had been touched that way? Certainly, there had been women. _Before_. Before he discovered who - _what_ \- he was. But they were meaningless, and most only sought his favor to be held in higher esteem at court. It was no secret that most of them would have preferred the attentions of Thor.

_But no_ , he thought, _That’s not right_. No - for no woman, however skilled, could deceive the deceiver. For at least in the moments they spent in his bed, he knew which brother they desired.

Loki heard a _crack_ , somewhere. To his left. He stalled completely, turning his head; not quite fearful, but wary. He tried to think of all the creatures that lived in this forest. Nothing terribly dangerous, he decided. He saw nothing, though, and began to walk again, slowly. The stream was close.

And he was right, because only after about thirty quiet paces, he found himself standing in ground slightly squishy and could see the stream clearly. It was not very large at all; he supposed only a couple paces width. He knelt down and cupped his hands, bringing some of the water to his face and drank.

The water was crisp and deliciously cold. It tasted a little of silt, but he didn’t mind it. He took some more and splashed his face.

“Loki.”

The voice was familiar, and Loki was taken by such surprise he almost lost his balance where he was kneeling. He jumped to his feet, hand raised, completely ready to unleash whatever he needed to - but the man who had come into sight made him falter.

_Fandral_. Gold and green clouded Loki’s vision - and he took a step back.

“Shieldmate,” he said smoothly.

Fandral inclined his head, hand resting at the hilt of his sword. His eyes darted around, up to the sky and back towards the creek, and Loki swallowed heavily. _How long has he been here?_ How _is here here at all?_

“Not dead after all.”

Fandral’s voice was colder than Loki remembered. He thought back to the day that Frandral implored to him - as Odin - that he wasn’t dead. _Such irony_.

Loki raised his hand again, his other reaching into the pocket of his vest. His dagger was cool and slick in his fingers. It reached out to him like the sweet embrace of an old friend. He clenched it in his hand and withdrew it, slightly.

But Fandral was having none of that, because he was upon him before Loki could even blink.

He tumbled backwards, artlessly, the weight of Fandral’s body pinning him against the hard, rocky ground. The dagger was somehow knocked out of his grasp. Loki felt a jab on the back of his head, accompanied by an explosion of pain, and he opened his mouth to release a breath that never found purchase. Fandral slapped his gloved hand against Loki’s mouth with such force that all he could do was stare at him.

“Bloody - you -”

Fandral was sputtering with rage, his hair waving about, strands of it bouncing off Loki’s forehead. The creek bubbled on softly next to him.

“You lie about _everything_. About _death_. About - about _everything_.”

Loki wanted to speak. But he also knew that if he truly wanted to, he could find a way out of Fandral’s grasp. And so he stayed still. 

“I knew you weren’t dead. This entire time. But I thought you had hidden yourself away - not _this_. Sitting the throne as the Allfather? _Loki_.”

Fandral said Loki’s name like a prayer - with awe. With disappointment. With rage. 

And then he let him go.

“Fandral,” Loki said as soon as his mouth was free. “How are you here?” He thought of Jane, sleeping in the clearing. Not so far from where they were.

Fandral’s eye’s flashed, but he held no other emotion on his face. When he spoke, his voice was calm and smooth - it held none of the previous weight from just before. 

“You think you are untouchable. That is your first mistake.”

His response was vague, but Loki rather thought he understood what he meant. Fandral made movements to stand, and Loki followed suit. He dusted himself off, and then straightened, wary.

“Were I not truly untouchable, then how have I managed to fool so many?”

Fandral bared his teeth, pointing in the general direction of the clearing. Loki felt the blood drain from his face, and he tried to swallow - to bite down the sudden fear - but it was for naught. His heart began to race at the implications of Fandral’s point; the knowledge that he knew just where Jane was sleeping peacefully, ignorant to the sudden shift in events.

He could not even find it in him to scorn himself for feeling the fear that he had so brazenly, as his dream-self, told Jane he did not ever feel.

“You think you can transport mortals across worlds without it being noticed? That you can fool Heimdall, least of all _me_?” Fandral grit out, emotion racing back to his tones as quickly as a sudden summer storm. Loki watched him raise his hand from where it was gesturing, watched him use it to run it hastily through his hair. When he spoke again, his voice was low. “We have had our suspicions - we have only been biding time.”

At his words, there was nothing in Loki’s mouth to swallow. His heart shuddered painfully, and he took an ungraceful step back, away from the man he had trusted with everything not so long ago. 

But it may as well have been another lifetime for him.

“My sincerest apologies, but I do not believe you,” Loki grit out. “Heimdall has been fooled without much effort on my part. If he hadn’t, do you honestly think he would have allowed me to continue? No…I think you’re bluffing, Shieldmate.”

Fandral laughed then, a grating sound. Not at all his true laugh, and then Loki realized with complete certainty that Fandral had been truthful.

“Loki…you may be clever, and powerful, but you are not invincible. You have been leaving tracks. You have been messy. And quite honestly, I think you _wanted_ to be found out.”

Loki grit his teeth at that. He wondered if there was a chance that Fandral had come alone, or if Jane had already been taken back to Asgard - presumably by the rest of the Warriors Three, or Sif. He clenched his hand into a tight fist, wondering if he had it in him to incapacitate Fandral to find out.

“Tell me something,” Loki said then, his tone laced with bitterness that he could not control. “Did Thor really not believe you? Or has this been the plan all along? Does Thor sit on Midgard awaiting word from you or Heimdall that I have been put back in my prison?” he paused, eyes raking the ground quickly in search of his dagger. “It must be so tedious for him without Jane, though.”

“If you must ask that of me, then you truly do not understand your brother at all.”

“He is _not_ my _brother_!”

Loki’s shout was raw and absolute. He heard several birds take flight, their wings drowning out the echoes. But it was loud enough for Jane to hear, and he wondered if in the chance that she had not been taken, that she would be smart and run.

He rather thought not, though.

“You are so quick to throw aside your relationship with Thor, of how many years? And for what? You are only hurting yourself.” 

His ears began to buzz at that, at the complete absurdity of the statement.

“Of course - it is so very easy for you to say that, when you have had no purpose in life other than to serve us,” Loki spat. “Do not think for a moment that you can change a millennium of lies with your pretty ideals of familial ties. Your sentiment only weakens you, Fandral.”

He saw something then - a flash of sadness cross over Fandral’s features.

“I would rather be weakened than alone,” he said quietly. 

Loki did not respond. There were a few moments of silence - of uncertainty. They regarded each other as one would a particularly dangerous beast. Searching for weak spots. Biding time.

Loki decided that Fandral had, indeed, come alone. If Fandral had backup of any sort, he would not…dawdle as he was. Loki stiffened his posture, and raised his hand. Finally spotting his dagger some few feet away in the grass, with only a few seconds of thought, it was in his hand once more.

“I need to tell you something,” Fandral said then, loudly. His eyes were set on Loki’s grip, on the shining metal of the dagger against the sun. 

“You have more good news?” Loki bit out.

“No. Heimdall watches Thor. Heimdall has seen that Thor is commissioning a…a sort of Bifrost to be built. The metal man and some others. He means to come back to Asgard.”

Fandral’s words were rushed. Loki stared at him, eyebrows raised.

“And what does he intend to do once he is here?”

“I think you know the answer to that, Loki.”

There it was. Loki looked away, breaking the intense gaze that Fandral was casting his way. He looked to the creek, an easier sight to behold. His hand clenched against the handle of his dagger, but it did nothing to stifle the rage. The bubbling feeling of hot, burning…

_Fear_.

“Why do you tell me this? You know what I’ve done.”

He saw Fandral take a step, in his peripheral vision. He jerked his head to look at him, wary of his approach. But Fandral held no anger on his face, and Loki did not make to step back.

“I do not believe that you are evil. I do not believe that you are unredeemable.”

Fandral was close to him now, close enough to touch. Loki saw his arm raise, felt the weight of his hand on his shoulder.

“So you think I should - what? Turn myself in? Set Odin free? Beg forgiveness?” Loki laughed, a high-pitched, wild sound. He shoved Fandral’s hand away. “I am not Asir. I do not think they would hold true to their foolish laws this time.”

If Fandral was confused, he didn’t show it. Loki realized that Fandral probably knew his _true_ parentage. The thought of _that_ being a topic for after-supper conversation between Thor and the Warriors Three made him want to vomit. He swallowed, heavily, urging the nausea down - but Fandral knit his brow.

“No, Loki. The leader of the men that Thor battles with on Midgard have demanded your capture and delivery, along with Lady Jane.”

Loki opened his mouth to speak, but a gasp broke his train of thought. Both he and Fandral turned their heads to see Jane herself, rather comically, craning her neck around the trunk of a tree. 

_Not smart after all_ , he thought. 

There was a very awkward silence, then. Jane looked apprehensive, almost frightened, but she slowly made her way around the tree so that she was fully visible. She put her hands behind her back, leaning against the enormous trunk. 

“Lady Jane,” Fandral finally said, after a time. 

“Fandral,” Jane said, politely. Her eyes darted between both he and Loki, quickly, and Loki felt the sudden urge to go to her, to shield her away from Fandral’s gaze.

He looked to Fandral, taking in his face. He looked terribly uncertain, as if trying to decide the best course of action. 

“I trust that you are…well?” he finally asked.

“I’m not hurt,” she said, now fully looking at Fandral. Loki had the sudden impulse to run for it then and there, to let Fandral take care of the rest. He could probably survive for quite a long time in the woods here, or even disguise himself well enough to settle in some small village in the mountains. He could imagine it fully, then: the soft breeze through the trees, the smell of sheep and cattle. The delicate laugh of an Álfheimr bride, should he choose to take one.

“I thought you disguised us, Loki?”

Jane’s voice cut through his imaginings, and he blinked, hard. Her eyes were on his, and he shrugged.

“I did. But obviously in sleep it wore through. Sometimes that happens.”

Jane knit her brow, obviously confused. But she said nothing in reply to this, and instead looked back to Fandral.

“What is going to happen, now?”

Fandral started.

“My Lady Jane…I would see you home safely. Before Thor uses his Bifrost and things get unnecessarily messy.”

“And what happens to Loki, once you take me home?”

“You heard him. Thor intends to take me back to Midgard, too. To see justice.”

Jane looked uneasy at his words. Loki watched her curiously, wondering what could possibly be going through her head. She was presented with the perfect opportunity to leave, to go back home, to Thor. Away from Loki. And yet she almost looked…saddened? He stared at her more intently, then. Her eyes flicked up and met his.

“I know a little bit about SHIELD,” she began, her face visibly flinching. “And I don’t think they want you to see justice.”

_Ah_ , Loki thought then, _She is worried for you. It is clearly written all over her face_.

He thought on that statement - imagining what SHIELD would have waiting for him. Another glass cage, far above the ground? Or perhaps this time, something buried deep in the earth? He thought of Asgard, of his time on the throne. Never in his own skin. Constantly putting on an act. He decided he would merely be trading one prison for another.

_I think you_ wanted _to be found out_.

Perhaps Fandral’s words held truth. _All things hold truth in their own way_ , he reminded himself. He remembered standing on the highest balcony of the palace, staring out, the perfect vantage point to see all of the city, all of the ocean and all of the sky. He remembered looking down, knowing that he would not survive the fall.

“Loki?” Jane said, concern etching the syllables of his name. He almost leaned in, longing to hear her say his name again.

“I will go,” Loki said then, knowing that he sounded insane. Perhaps he was. Perhaps his entire life, every path he had ever taken, had simply been to lead to this point.

“What? Go where?” she asked, eyes alight with worry.

“I will go to Midgard. To face this ‘justice’. Perhaps when it is over I will walk free once more.”

“No, Loki - I…I don’t -”

“Loki, I can hide you. You needn’t go to Midgard,” Fandral said quickly, cutting Jane off.

He looked between the two of them, realizing that he could no longer see a true difference anymore. Jane and Fandral both held the same weight to him, now. He once held mortals with such scorn, such distaste. He once wrecked havoc on their farmlands, practicing magic to wilt and grow crops, to change their shape and form. He once spent a full year drinking in their taverns, warming the beds of their wives, cheating his way through their dice and card games. He was Loki, the god of mischief, the doer of good and the doer of evil. 

And now?

He felt his shoulders slump, felt his head drop slightly as he traced the patterns in the grass. Motionless, he opened his mouth.

“I cannot run anymore. I will face the Midgardians. I grow tired of this charade.” 

Yes. He would face them, for a time. He would give them just enough in whatever cell they created for him that he deemed necessary. And then he would rid himself of the prison. He would walk free through the stars once more.

He avoided Jane’s gaze when he lifted his head. He avoided Fandral’s, too.

()()()

_Thank you for your patience while I struggled through this chapter. Life has this sneaky way of ganging up on you and making things you enjoy harder to do! I thank all my readers and commenters, too!_


	18. Chapter Eighteen

"Necessity is blind until it becomes conscious. Freedom is the consciousness of necessity." - Karl Marx

()()()

Chapter Eighteen

()()()

As Loki, Fandral, and Jane made their way back to the portal - the link between worlds - Loki marveled at the fact that everything was different now. He cast his eyes to the blinding blue sky, and refused to think about his future: that unknowable thing, ever elusive. He used to presume that his fate was sealed; but then he remembered that he also once thought himself a king.

His mouth contorted bitterly into something of a grimace at that thought.

He became aware of Fandral and Jane beginning to chat, and Loki drowned the sounds of their voices, trailing behind them. He saw no reason to engage in their petty conversation. He tried very hard to avoid thinking of the dream; the entire reason they were in this situation, if he was being honest with himself. But he could not forget the achingly real feeling of Jane on him, touching him - Loki closed his eyes momentarily, allowing himself to fall into the dream again, against his better judgement. He wondered how this had happened…when he had accepted his desire for her as simple fact. But then he forced himself to open his eyes, to face reality. If Loki had not awaken from it, perhaps he would not have found the stream. Perhaps they could have escaped without facing Fandral at all.

But it didn't matter. They could have escaped, only to face the confrontation another day. Loki knew that much to be true.

He wondered vaguely if Jane had ever dreamed of him. He wondered if in her dreams, he was not as he truly was: a monster. He wondered if she too longed to feel him, if she had ever imagined his mouth on hers. He shook his head, minutely. _Of course she hasn't_ , he told himself savagely. _She does not desire you, she will_ never _desire you. She has Thor waiting for her, on Midgard._

Loki became aware of the silence then. Jane and Fandral were no longer talking; the portal was drawing nearer. They passed the _traík_ , the gigantic trees that only yesterday Jane had attempted to hug, the unblemished joy spread easily across her face. Loki's mouth went dry at the memory. He studied her back, her small form. He had taken so much from her, and she had given him only kindness in return. He had deserved none of it; he knew that much.

And then he realized rather abruptly that he would never see Jane smile again. And that thought was almost too ridiculous - too _painful_ \- to bear.

He wondered what sort of welcome SHIELD would provide for him when he arrived on Midgard. If Thor knew the truth, that he had taken Jane, that he had embodied the All Father - then he rather thought what awaited him was very dismal indeed. As he regarded her back once more, he couldn't help but feel that whatever it was, it was only what he deserved.

"The cave is just ahead," Fandral was saying. He was pointing to the hill; the hill Loki and Jane had stood on and took in the vast expanse of Álfheim. He wondered if Jane was thinking of it, too.

After following the narrow path up the hill, they approached the cave. Loki held his hand for Jane to take it in preparation for the portal, and she did with one motion, with no words to accompany it. His heart lurched strangely at the feeling of warmth that her hand supplied, and he saw Fandral eyeing their hands as if wary.

"Loki…" Fandral started, hesitating. "You don't…you don't have to do this, you know."

Loki looked at him, briefly. He saw the pinched expression of worry on his face, and then wondered why Fandral cared so much - after all Loki had done. To everyone. Asgard. Midgard. Thor…and Jane. He refused to think about Odin, though - he refused to feel sorry for the man who had lied to him his entire life.

"I know what I must do," Loki said then, quietly. He felt Jane's hand twitch in his, but she said nothing.

Fandral adjusted his stance, straightening his back. He nodded, then.

"I meant the words I said the day of my oath to you, Loki. I don't presume to understand everything you do, but despite it all…despite the terrible things you've done, I still do not wish ill upon you. I sincerely hope you know what you're doing."

Loki felt the anger bubbling inside at his words, but it felt…false. He swallowed, and nodded, letting the anger dissipate as quickly as it came.

"I'm going to cloak us now. We will meet you at the Bifrost."

"Right then. I'll head for the Bifrost," Fandral replied, nodding. Loki inclined his head, and raised his hand. He saw Fandral staring at them, where they were just a moment ago. Now he was staring at nothing at all.

()()()

Jane and Loki, once on Asgard again, began their journey to the Bifrost. He left them cloaked in case they came across any citizens of Asgard, to avoid unnecessary trouble. Fandral had split from them, presumably to meet up with Heimdall before the four of them came face to face.

When they reached the Rainbow Bridge, Loki began to feel true trepidation at what was about to transpire. He was careful to silence their steps, to avoid detection by the Einherjar standing by the gates. He began to feel real doubt in his decision to go to Midgard - but he knew that it was far too late to back out now. He could use his magic, certainly, but it would be for naught. He would be barred from Asgard, forever, no matter what he did now.

"Are you alright?" Jane asked him, quietly, once out of earshot of the Einherjar. Loki slowed his pace, uncertain how to reply.

"I'm fine. I am doing what I must," he said, regarding her face quickly before turning away again. He couldn't quite bear to see the look of concern in her eyes - for _him_. He focused instead on his steps. One foot in front of the other. He picked up his pace.

"I just - I'm worried about you. You don't know what SHIELD is capable of."

Loki let out a coarse laugh at that.

"I know perfectly well what they're capable of," he bit out, recalling the glass cage they had put him in. Recalling the animalistic hatred he felt when they put that silencing mask on his face, and all he could do was stare in contempt at his captors. They had wished to silence him - and they had.

He felt pressure on his arm, and he looked to see her small hand gripping the fabric of his tunic. The world shifted, somehow. He stopped completely, there on the Rainbow Bridge, not so far from the spot where he had let go of Gungnir, where he had willingly fallen into the void.

Where he had changed forever. That person that fell…never really came back.

"Please…tell me why you're doing this," Jane asked him, her voice obviously pained.

"I know what I'm doing," he replied, quietly. Too quietly. He turned his head to catch her face, but her expression was oddly shielded.

"Do you?" she asked mildly.

"Yes," he snapped. And then he sighed, and turned completely to face her again, crossing his arms. The sunlight was quickly fading. It cast shadows against Jane's face that made her look almost ominous.

"I don't think you understand how serious this is," she said, crossing her arms too. "I know you're fully capable of handling yourself, and I'm not trying to say that you can't. But SHIELD won't make the same mistakes they made last time. They're going to lock you up and never let you see the light of day again."

She stepped forward, then, the shadows shifting somehow to soften her features. Loki opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off, reaching out to grasp his arm faintly, eyes locked on his.

"I would hate to see you in a situation you couldn't get out of."

"Why do you care?" he asked despite himself. "What have I done to invite this reckless sentiment?"

"'Reckless sentiment'? Really? After everything - that's what you call it? I _care_ about you. You're -"

" _Thor's brother_ ," he finished for her, a dangerous hint in his tone. She bit her lip, then, breaking their eye contact.

There was a very still silence following his words. He scoffed and moved his arm out of her grip, stepping away from her, creating distance. He ignored the way the dying sun lit up her hair like fine gold. And he ignored the obvious tears she was fighting back, too.

"Yes," Loki said then, casting bitterness into his voice, staring at the floor of the Rainbow Bridge, not really seeing it. Anything to avoid looking into Jane's eyes. "I should remind you that I held you here against your will. That anything that transpired between us will no longer matter. And certainly after _this_ , Thor will no longer be so eager to claim me as kin."

"I…" Jane started. She hugged herself, turning away to look somewhere else. He mused that anything would be a better sight than _him_.

"What? Nothing to say, now?"

Despite his harsh tone, she didn't stiffen. Almost lazily, she turned her head to look back at him.

"I will visit you, if I can," she said softly. "Wherever you end up. You try to push people away, but I know it isn't what you truly want."

Loki didn't have to ask her what she meant. His skin prickled uncomfortably, increasingly aware that she had known him intimately - much more intimately than should be possible. He had to stop himself from clutching at his chest. His _heart_.

"If you're done, we should get going. Before _they_ find us, first," he said then, eager to get moving again. He suddenly felt like he didn't have enough space, enough air. He turned and began to walk, not sure if Jane was following him.

"Wait," she said. Idly, he turned, half surprised at how close she was to him.

There was a strange moment of stiffness, he noted dimly, before he became aware that she had stretched out her arms and was hugging him. He stood there, somewhat trapped, looking down at her head, pinned into her embrace but unable to truly do anything to leave it. He kept his arms hanging limply at his sides.

Loki's heart thudded dangerously in his chest.

"I forgive you, you know," she was saying from somewhere far, far away.

He wanted to laugh, or growl, or push her away or pull her closer - he settled for a noncommittal noise, something soft. Jane sighed into his chest, arms squeezing, before pulling away and looking at him imploringly.

He wanted to ask her if this was custom on Midgard - all this touching. He held it back, though. Rigidly, he nodded to her.

He hadn't hugged her back, he realized. His arms ached from the effort it took to remain at his sides, and his chest ached, too, from the terrible feeling of emptiness he felt when she had pulled away. He wanted nothing more than to take her, to show her exactly which brother she should prefer. But that was wrong. There was nothing honorable about the way he felt - and surely once on Midgard this gripping, terrible _lust_ \- for that was surely all it was - would disappear. He would forget Jane Foster, because that was all he _could_ do.

()()()

By the time they had reached the Biforst observatory, true dark had fallen. Once within its walls, Loki raised his had and uncloaked himself and Jane. Fandral was already there, hands clasped behind his back. He was standing some paces away from Heimdall, staring into the horizon, beyond the observatory to the edge of the world.

"Loki."

Hearing his name, Loki knew who spoke it. He saw Fandral turn, to face them, his hands coming down at his sides. Loki made distance between him and Jane, approaching Heimdall, slowly, gauging his mood. Uncertain momentarily if he would be allowed to leave. Ready for anything.

"Heimdall," he said then, slowly.

For a time, nothing was said. The observatory was almost silent, save the humming of the Bifrost. He remembered the evening he had come here with intentions of destroying Jötunheim; that fleeting fit of madness. He remembered imploring that Thor fight him - he remembered wanting to feel _pain_. Loki shook the thought away. Now was not the time for remembrances.

"Fandral has told me that you plan to surrender on Midgard," Heimdall said then. "But I am not letting you pass. Not until you have freed the _true_ Allfather."

Loki heard the snub in his words. He felt another wave of anger wash over him - he let it become apart of himself. He wondered rather abruptly why he hadn't taken care of Heimdall himself, earlier. At the beginning, when he had the chance. Why hadn't he locked him away, too? Why hadn't he cast him to the darkest pits of Hel?

" _And quite honestly, I think you_ wanted _to be found out."_

Fandral's words came unbidden to his mind. Was there truth in them? Loki found that he didn't know. But what he did know, without a doubt, was that it was _always_ something, when it came to his plans, his schemes. There was _always_ something he missed, something he should have changed, that resulted in his failure. For his own sense of sanity, he told himself that he didn't want to be found out - he had wanted to rule Asgard, for as long as he lived. But he also knew that such a thing was impossible from the beginning. And even if he hadn't called Thor and Jane to Asgard, eventually, she would have died - and he would have returned to Asgard, to rule. If only Loki had given his plan more thought, given himself more _time_.

He regarded his situation again. He could still do it - he could overcome Heimdall, Fandral. His hand was so close to his blade, to his freedom. But then he heard a voice, _the_ voice. It stopped him in his tracks.

"Loki, please…tell him where your father is."

Loki stiffened at her words, ready to lash at them - _He's not my father!_ \- But found he could not. He had already hurt her too much - even he knew when it was time to draw a line, to recognize boundaries. And he realized in the dimness of his own mind that if he had not done what he had done…he would have never known Jane.

She would have never known _him_.

After several moments of thought, Loki decided to give into it all. To truly surrender himself to what he had decided. He closed his eyes, thinking about the cloak, shielding Odin in the dungeon. He concentrated, releasing it.

"Odin is in the dungeons," he said, looking at Fandral, ignoring Heimdall's gaze. "Lowest level, second left, at the end. He will need a healing stone - Odin's Thread is not particularly gentle."

There was nothing but silence following his words. He almost felt a sense of shame at what he had done to Odin, but refused to dwell on it. He watched for Fandral's reaction, but his face was emotionless.

"You will pay for what you've done," Heimdall said then. Loki narrowed his eyes, watching him, waiting for him to reach for his sword. He knew that Heimdall could see Odin now; he knew that soon Odin would be freed. He would once again, after recuperating, sit upon the throne of Asgard.

And all would be well again, at least on Asgard.

"Certainly," Loki replied. He grew tired of the conversation; he beckoned Jane to stand before the Bifrost, relatively certain that Heimdall had no intentions of delivering his own sense of justice.

"Lady Jane, if you would, I will send Loki first. You needn't worry about being alone with him any further," Heimdall said, not taking his eyes off Loki's face, making it entirely plain just what he thought of Loki being alone with Jane.

"No…no. Please. I'm perfectly safe with Loki. I will make sure he gets safely…to SHIELD," she said, trailing off at the end. Realizing the oxymoron of her statement. "Please, send us to my home in New Mexico. I will call Thor from there."

Heimdall inclined his head, a sign of his acquiesce, but still a look of intense distrust shrouded his features. Loki thought of Jane's words. He wondered if this was her idea of kindness - to call for Thor, and not SHIELD. He wanted to interject - to tell her to send him straight to SHIELD instead, instead of seeing Thor face to face, with no walls between them to protect him. But then he thought that it was fair, really, in the end. He deserved whatever he was handed, on Midgard.

"Loki," Fandral cut in. "Please, see reason. Don't go to Midgard. They aren't like us." He glanced awkwardly at Jane as he said it, and Loki felt his mouth twitch. "You can face justice here. You may once again walk free. Down there…you don't know what you will face."

"I am not Aesir," Loki said through gritted teeth, his own words a stark reminder of what was fact. "I would be killed, for what I have done here. Even you must realize that Midgard is the safest place for me. Heimdall, open the Bifrost."

Fandral looked between Loki and Heimdall, worrying his bottom lip. He knew Fandral felt helpless. Loki knew he thought him a madman, ready to put himself in the arms of the people he tried to rule, the task he had set to do, and had failed spectacularly. He also knew that what he faced would be nothing compared to what Odin would have in store for him, if he had decided to stay. Even if he escaped to another realm, he would forever be hunted. He would never know peace.

But he had never _truly_ known peace, anyway.

It was Heimdall who spoke next, breaking the awkward silence that had fallen over them.

"The only reason I allow you to go is because I have seen what those Midgardians plan to do with their Bifrost. Your Asgardian justice is not worth the carnage they plan should you stay."

"We shall see," Loki said. He then heard the whirl of the Bifrost, felt its pull. "One last thing, Heimdall," he said quickly, the question springing from his lips unbidden. "How did you know?"

For a moment, Loki thought Heimdall would not answer. "I knew it the moment you agreed to use magic to ensure Jane's triumph in the Room of the Unknown. The _true_ Allfather would never agree to it. Odin has no such magic." Heimdall's face was completely expressionless, as he spoke. His words were oddly clipped, as if speaking them was an effort.

"And you let me go…all that time." Not a question, but it held the weight of one.

"I took a risk, yes," Heimdall replied. "I held too much in my heart the knowledge of who you were, _before_. I have failed my realm. Now I know that you would have never stopped. Perhaps your trip to Midgard is part of your scheme. But trust me on this, Loki…the only way I would permit you back on Asgard is to face your death."

And then the whirl of the Bifrost became too much. The last thing Loki saw before spinning into the void of space was Heimdall's golden eyes, his face nothing but a mask of hatred.

* * *

_Overdue chapter is overdue...I do apologize to the readers of this story. I hope you can forgive me and that you still have hope for Loki. I've received a couple reviews that Loki is suicidal...hmm, never thought of it that way to be honest. Maybe he is, maybe he isn't. We all know he isn't the most predictable person...this entire story is my attempt to lead off that crazy thing he did to begin with at the end of TDW. ;) Thank you very much for your time, your favorites, reviews, PMs...and I hope you enjoyed this chapter. :)_


	19. Chapter Nineteen

"Only those who risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go." – T. S. Eliot

* * *

_**Chapter Nineteen** _

* * *

When Loki and Jane landed on Midgard, they found themselves in the middle of a desert. After taking a quick look around and being slightly underwhelmed by the bland surroundings, he presumed that this was what she had called New Mexico.

"Well, I guess we should get going," she said then, pointing toward the horizon, and Loki looked. It was the only point he could see with any light. "It's a couple miles or so. Let's find the road, and follow it."

He found that even though it was dark, he did recognize the horizon - he remembered the muddled view from the eyes of the Destroyer. He glanced awkwardly at Jane, wondering if she recalled that day, too. Her features were shielded to him, though, and he quickly glanced away.

Loki gestured his hand out, inclining his head, assuming the role of prince, of someone he knew he was not anymore. "After you."

And they walked, for a time, not speaking. Loki took his eyes to the sky, acutely aware that this was the same sky that Jane must have spent many nights staring at, mapping. Learning. This was the sky that Thor fell out of, perhaps even the same spot that they had landed on themselves. Although the Midgardian sky was nothing like Asgard, it did hold its charm.

"I feel like I should still be trying to convince you not to do this," Jane said suddenly, knocking him out of his train of thought. Loki cleared his throat and sighed audibly.

"You'd be wasting your breath, Jane. It's far, far too late now. Let's not speak of it any longer."

He expected her to argue; to tell him that _No, you have to hear me out_. But she didn't, and all she said was, "Alright."

She didn't say anything after that, and he once again let his thoughts drift. To Asgard, first: he wondered if, now that Odin was free, would he demand Loki return there, to face his death? Or would he bide his time - for he had plenty - until Loki had served a punishment long enough on Midgard, long enough that in Odin's mind Loki had paid for his actions here?

Loki chanced another look at Jane. He wondered what she was thinking, now. So much had changed between them in such a short period of time…a blink, really, to him. When her eyes met his, he looked away.

"I hope where they take me is well stocked in the way of books, at least," Loki said then, a jest - an effort to break the stark silence that had fallen between them. He remembered vividly Nick Fury's words from outside of Loki's cage - " _Well, let me know if "real power" wants a magazine or something_." He rather thought they wouldn't be quite so friendly this time around.

He saw Jane grip her arms out of the corner of his eye, and heard her sigh softly.

"I'll be sure to let them know," she said dryly. He heard what she didn't say, too: It's not too late to back out.

And suddenly, he felt frustrated at her lack of understanding. Loki thought it likely that she rather thought him crazed - that what he was doing was serving no true purpose, that he was simply giving up. And then a nasty voice in the back of his mind asked him, _But isn't that what this is? Giving up? Letting go…running away?_

"I can't go back," he told her, barely above a whisper, deciding in that moment that he had to make her see. "To Asgard. There's…nothing for me, there." He glanced at her again, fully meeting her eyes. Willing her to understand what he hadn't said. That he was not truly Aesir, that he was only wearing an elaborate mask. That he did not belong on Asgard anymore than he belonged on Midgard. And most of all: that he was a coward, unable to face what he had truly done to Odin. That coming here was his only viable option. He said it all to her, silently, with his gaze. Jane opened her mouth to reply, but nothing came out.

He was waiting for her to stop walking, to grab his arm. To embrace him. Wasn't this one of those moments? But she didn't. She kept walking, and so did he. Perhaps now that they were on Midgard, Jane finally remembered which brother she belonged to. _It would be fitting_ , Loki thought savagely.

Jane told Loki that she forgave him, on the Rainbow Bridge, not even an hour ago. His chest lurched uncomfortably at the thought. But…he could never presume to accept forgiveness for something so _unforgivable_. He finally looked away from her, his mouth set in a grim line. Soon, he would be taken from her; there was no point in trying to delude himself of the truth. She had said she'd visit him…yes, but Loki was not so foolish as to believe her. Even if she tried…and yes, he closed his eyes momentarily, seeing the image: she would try, at first. But SHIELD would turn her away, without a doubt. They would not want Jane Foster, Thor's _beloved_ , in the same room with _him_ \- Loki, of Asgard, of Jötunheim, of… _Nothing_.

He supposed that belonged to no realm, now; the thought was not as harrowing as it once was.

"I know you can't go back. I know," Jane said, seemingly out of nowhere. Her words ripped Loki out of his self-loathing reverie. He remembered their meeting, again. The memory was so clear it felt like only yesterday.

_I saw your heart._

Loki nodded, not wanting to say anything else. He didn't particularly care if she saw it or not, in the dark. His throat was oddly tight, and the town was drawing closer. They had passed a few dwellings already, and soon they would be in Jane's. Soon, he would be at the mercy of SHIELD.

Or maybe SHIELD wouldn't have a chance - maybe Thor would get to him, first. He could easily see it: once the Mighty Thor caught wind of Loki being on Midgard, within his grasp, surely he would be unable to control his grip on Mjölnir and would fly straight to him. Thor could end it all very quickly, if he wanted. Loki swallowed heavily at the thought, but shook it away.

He didn't truly believe Thor capable of murdering who he perceived to be his brother. He was weak, that way.

And then Loki smirked despite himself. For he knew without a doubt that whatever end he faced, it would not come from Thor's hand.

()()()

Jane's home was small, and excessively disorganized. Loki almost laughed aloud at the sight when she finally opened the door after hunting for a spare key inside of what looked like a fake rock. She had grinned sheepishly at him, for a moment, before she seemingly remembered why they were there.

"Have a seat, I'll just be in my room, packing a few things," she said, gesturing to a rather worn piece of furniture that Loki assumed had once been a sofa, in another life. He gingerly sat down on it, halfway afraid that his weight would actually do it in. He looked around the room, noting the newspaper on the low table in front of him, and picked it up.

Midgardian news hardly interested him, but he skimmed through it anyway, his face contorting quickly into a look of disgust at the high amounts of violence the paper reported. Deciding not to linger, he flicked through the pages, taking in the automobile advertisements, then turning to the the section labeled _Classifieds_ , reading quickly through the listings there. He was reading what the paper declared a 'Comic' when he heard a loud _bang_.

Startled despite himself, he dropped the paper, looking at the front door, toward the source of the noise. Before he had time to react, there was another loud _bang_ , and then the door was knocked completely off its frame.

Loki jumped up at the same time he heard Jane shout. His first thought - instinct, really - was to find her, to tell her to hide. To shield her. But it was far too late - a group of figures, seven of them, had entered the room and were facing Loki with very large weapons.

_Guns_ , his mind supplied rather weakly, and he realized exactly what was happening. SHIELD had found him.

His hands flew up into the air, the universal sign of surrender. His face split into a wicked grin, and while he felt a strange twinge of guilt that this men had knocked down Jane's door on his account, he couldn't help but allow himself to enjoy the pandemonium. These men _feared_ him, and his heart was racing with the excitement that proceeded this realization. He also knew without a doubt that these men could not hurt him, but the guns made him wary, especially with Jane so close. He heard her approaching, quickly, behind him. He turned to look at her, but felt cold metal against his face, forcing his jaw to stay where it was.

"What are you doing? Don't hurt him!"

Loki's grin quickly disappeared with Jane's shout at the same time that one of the men, presumably their leader, stepped forward.

"Ma'am, I'm Agent Aaron Wilson," the man said smoothly. "I apologize for the abrupt entry. We received notice of an atmospheric disturbance very close to Site One and after realizing that it was you and Loki, we had no choice but to step in. And now, I'm going to have to ask you to step back. We must detain Loki for yours and everyone else's safety."

Ignoring the obvious slight, Loki's eyes darted back and forth, assessing the team. They all looked exactly the same - they all wore black, thick looking vests over yet more black; even their hands were gloved with black material he couldn't identify readily. On their heads was a black, shining helmet, but their faces were ironically left free. Loki would have smiled again if it were just him at risk, but he was achingly aware of Jane's ragged breathing just behind him.

"Jane, listen to him, and leave. There is nothing more you can do for me," he told her, his voice low and halting. He didn't dare to turn his head and he kept his hands up for fear of what they might do. He thought rather desperately that he could easily wipe them out, he _could_. But the thought of one of the Midgardian idiots accidentally firing their weapon the wrong way and hitting Jane…

"Mr. Wilson," Jane said testily, seemingly ignoring Loki's words. "I'm sure you must have realized by now that Loki doesn't _need_ to be detained. We were just about to call SHIELD and surrender -"

The man cut her off, raising his hand abruptly, taking another step forward. "Ma'am, once again, I'm going to tell you to step back. _Now_. We _will_ detain you too if necessary."

"Listen to him," Loki said, quickly, almost panicking. He could hardly comprehend his reaction to the situation, and he mentally cursed himself for not seeing this coming. But the image of Jane's form on the floor, her own blood wetly staining the wood, was enough to make him feel wild with fear. "Step away, Jane. _Leave_!"

His words came out as a harsh bark - much harsher than he had initially intended. His head was inclined to turn despite the now warming metal against his face. He wanted just one last look before they took him, but found that he couldn't bear the expression he knew would be on Jane's face after he heard her gasp aloud. There was a very still silence, for only half a beat, before the man that had spoken was stepping forward, metal glinting in his hand.

"Cuff him," he said gruffly.

The man who stood with his gun pressed into Loki's cheek for what felt like eons lowered his weapon into its holster, roughly grabbing each of Loki's arms. Loki had to tell himself what was about to happen before he realized that the man was struggling; he relaxed his muscles enough to allow him to pull Loki's hands behind his back, the metal in the first man's hand now around Loki's wrists.

Loki gripped his hands into fists, flexing his forearms to gauge the strength of the metal bands around his wrists. The metal was stiff, but breakable if he had the need for escape. He stood ramrod straight, waiting for the Midgardian idiots to decide what they were going to do with him next, his heart racing uncomfortably in his chest. A sort of frantic urge surfaced then, the almost impossible need to make it known that the only reason they were able to do this to him was because he had _let_ them - but he let it fall out of his mind as quickly as it came. He longed to tell Jane not to worry about him, that he had ways to escape if he was truly in harm's way, but did not see it wise to say such a thing in front of these men.

He was left with only a strange sense of emptiness, then.

Agent Aaron Wilson spoke again, avoiding Loki's suddenly narrowed gaze and looking straight beyond him, to Jane.

"Dr. Foster, we are taking Loki into custody now. Once we have taken care of him, we will escort you to a jet that will fly you straight to New York. You need to be debriefed."

If Jane had anything to say about that, she wasn't give the chance, because he then made a quick gesture with his left hand, and the men in the room, never lowering their weapons, began to file around Loki. He remembered starkly the night he was "captured" and taken to the cage on the helicarrier - Nick Fury had been _so_ proud of that. Loki allowed himself to relax, a little. SHIELD would never be able to _truly_ capture him.

This was necessary for Loki. He _needed_ to do this. If he had stayed on Asgard, he would have faced a most certain, obvious death.

They shuffled him out of Jane's dwelling, into the dark night. On the street sat a large black automobile, and one of the men opened a door on the back of it, ushering Loki inside. He sat awkwardly on the bench seating, his hands still bound behind him. And then they slammed the door shut in his face, shrouding him in absolute darkness.

()()()

Loki sat in the back of the automobile for what felt like an eternity. After the vehicle had begun to move, he sat back against the cool metal and closed his eyes. He wondered vaguely where they were taking him. And then he wondered more acutely if they were taking him to _Thor_.

For the first time since he truly decided what he was going to do, Loki felt _afraid_.

He was not so naive to assume that Thor would be overly eager to keep grasping onto convoluted notions of _brotherhood_ when the two of them stood face to face again. Loki had not wanted this day to come so rapidly, but he saw no real way to avoid it. He could only hope that he could rely on the element of surprise still when he and Thor met again. But if he couldn't, then he could fight Thor with his fists; he had been trained to do so on Asgard, even if it was not the preferred weapon. Loki did not even pretend that it was likely he would have any weapons in whatever cell they put him in.

But also likely was that SHIELD would not allow Thor to see Loki at all. The last time they had done that, Thor had taken him back to Asgard, where no actual _justice_ had been served, despite all the grand promises Thor had made to the people of this realm at the time. Loki closed his eyes at that, pressing even harder against the metal surface of the vehicle, uncomfortably aware that he had no actual idea where the mortals were taking him.

But Jane…

Loki felt an immense sense of guilt at the way he had treated her. His last words to her were harsh, but said truly in his attempt to protect her. He wondered if she realized that. He shook his head in the darkness, wishing he could have said _something_ more to her before they were forcefully parted in such a way.

_You're so foolish_ , he thought to himself then. _She will forget you shortly, once she is back in_ his _arms_. A fresh wave of bitterness engulfed him at that thought. Not a new one, no, but never had he thought it with such conviction. He had thought it briefly, earlier, but now it was very _real_. She was not here with him anymore, and she would never be with him again. He knew he didn't deserve it - her company. He didn't deserve _her_. He had done nothing but take from her. He took until there was nothing left.

_And here I am_ , he thought, his face twisting into something like a smile, but he knew it must look more like a malicious sneer. Loki realized that now he was finally paying for his actions. He was being held accountable for the terrible, unforgivable things he had done.

But could they punish him for the misfortune of his very birth? Could they punish him for his innate nature, for _what_ he was?

_No_ , he thought, but this time it was Jane's voice he heard in place of his own. She may not know the true extent of his depravation, but he knew she would never hold him at fault for what he could not control. His chest ached at the thought; that _Jane_ would forgive him for his Jötunn blood. That Jane would never find anything in it that fact that would be necessary to forgive at all.

Loki forced himself out of those thoughts. He held himself in the present, for a time, refusing to dwell more onto Jane, onto someone he would never see again. He felt a real sense of loss, of _grief_ , but knew it was for the best…for the both of them. As much as he hated to admit it to himself, he was not the brother she needed. She needed the sun, the light. Loki was neither of those things. He would have destroyed himself in the process of trying to rip the darkness out of himself in efforts to be the thing that Jane needed.

He refused to think too much on the fact that he would change anything of himself for her at all.

It would not be long before Jane realized that what Loki had done to her was unforgivable - that he had imprisoned her, physically hurt her. That he had sent Thor to Midgard with the only hope that he would never return. Loki had made real efforts to ensure that Thor could not return - he had felt excitement, actual joy, at his triumph - and no guilt at all. Jane would surely, _surely_ , realize what a _monster_ Loki actually was.

And to what end? His little _scheme_ was idiotic. It would have never lasted. He knew that now. He knew that maybe from the first moments alone with himself after Thor had left the throne room, his red cloak trailing nobly after him. Loki's plan was temporary. His plans were _always_ temporary.

He sorely wished his hands were free, for he would have rested his face in them.

He wondered with some sense of disconnect from himself what had happened to make him grow so _cold_. Odin's lie - and Fridge's, too, but Loki refused to dwell on _that_ \- had destroyed him. Loki's sense of self was entirely woven in the tapestry of Asgard.

His hands touching the Ice Casket had frozen those threads; his anger had ripped them out and left nothing but ruins.

Loki leaned forward then, allowing for the first true emotion take him over. Guilt, loss, bitterness, _regret_. He regretted letting his sense of self-worth become so connected with what he had lost. His self-hatred had destroyed everything he had ever known. He wondered if it would have been different if Odin had told him sooner. If he had grown up knowing that he was different, instead of finding out after a millennia that he had never actually belonged.

What would have been better? Would he be here now, if it had been different?

_Of course not_ , he told himself. _You would have never had a reason to let go, if you had known sooner. Thanos would have never found you…_

He thought briefly of Thanos, actually thoughtof him, instead of the _idea_ of him. Thanos had simply used him as a means to achieve his own goals. Thanos fed on Loki's negative emotions; he warped Loki's thoughts and feelings and manifested them until they were larger than life. And then he gave him the Scepter, and said… _go fetch_.

Loki scoffed bitterly at that, turning his mind away from Thanos's distorted, blown features. He physically turned his head, then, letting himself concentrate on the feel of the vehicle moving down the road; he could hear nothing in the drivers' cabin, could see nothing out of the blacked out windows. He was completely in the hands of SHIELD, who even Jane seemed to fear.

Loki did not fear them. But he also had nothing left to lose.

* * *

_Thanks so much for your reviews for last chapter. I've been participating in NaNoWriMo, (not for this story, obviously!) so my writing time has been monopolized by that this week, but don't worry! I have the majority of this story outlined to the end; I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please let me know what you think of it! :)_


	20. Chapter Twenty

"By doubting we are led to question, by questioning we arrive at the truth." – Peter Abelard

* * *

_**Chapter Twenty** _

* * *

In the dark, the world was cold and lonely. Thor didn't know exactly where he was going, but he knew he was looking for someone.

He did not recognize this land he found himself in; it was unlike anything he had ever seen. The world was a barren expanse of void - the only sounds were of his own soft footsteps, his own heartbeat in his ears.

He knew that he was desolate - that strange, unmanageable feeling - and he knew that all he had left of himself were his own memories. But even they were flawed: all he had left of _those_ were whispers, fragments.

_Loki_.

A simple thought, a simple name. Yet it held more weight than he realized, because his own voice caught in his throat. His brother - and now he had to really tell himself that _yes_ , Loki was still his brother - had done the unimaginable this time. He wondered what sort of thing could lead his brother to abandon his own self; he wondered what he could have done to contribute to this different sort of downfall.

Thor felt an immense sense of guilt because while he did not know exactly what he had done, he knew that at least some of it was his fault. _Jane_ \- another name, surfacing in the corners of his mind - paid for it.

His pace quickened, for he had real purpose, now.

After what felt like eternity, a familiar landscape emerged. Asgard, in all its gleaming glory, had begun to line the horizon; he could see the palace clearly now. His mind's eye supplied the path he knew he must take, and he took it.

When he arrived, there were no Einherjar guarding the palace doors, and Thor took a moment to assess his surroundings. It was Asgard as he remembered it. The void he had come through was long gone, but there was nothing but silence around him. The Realm Eternal, without its citizens. The sky was picturesque; the blue so blue it could have swallowed him up whole. He remembered thinking that, as a child. It had never happened, and he paused momentarily, curiosity overwhelming him. Why had he remembered that now?

But his destination tugged at his mind, reminding him that he did not have time to stand so still. He opened the large, foreboding doors himself, their majestic weight leaving him almost breathless.

Inside was quieter. Thor moved down the hall, eying the pillars, feeling as if something was out of place. The colors here were more muted; silvery-gold contrasted with grey. His cloak was bustling behind him.

And finally, he arrived. Still no Einherjar, but he knew it was no matter. Who he sought would surely be there.

"Thor," a voice said, its lilt familiar and heartbreaking. On the throne was his father, and Thor walked the length of the room until he was just before him, and knelt.

"I have come a long way to see you," Thor said, his own voice sounding hollow in his ears.

"You have. And here you are. What is it you would say to me?"

Thor faltered at that - so intent he was in finding his father, he had not quite thought through what he would say to him. He thought of Loki, then: his face alight with a savage wildness, a pure hatred that had never been there before. His heart slid up to his throat, and Thor stood.

"Tell me why this has happened."

His father inclined his head, his hands resting on his knees. Thor saw a sense of sorrow in his eyes, and began to wonder despite himself of the oddity of this place. So unlike the Asgard he remembered. And here he was, alone with his father, for the first time since…

"I did what I must do, Thor. I did what I thought was best."

Thor shook his head minutely, refusing to accept his father's words. He forced himself to see that his father was not _just_ a father - no. He was so much more than that; he was the Allfather, and he had more than sons to worry about.

Loki had wanted this throne so much more than Thor. And Thor had left it to him, albeit unknowingly.

"Where is Loki?" Thor asked then, realizing how pressing that matter actually was. "He was here, before. I know it."

His father's lips parted, then slid into what could only be seen as a malicious grin.

"You care where Loki is? Or maybe…you wish to pay him a visit?"

Thor's brow furrowed at that; the words were biting and harsh. He looked around the room, wondering for the first time where everyone was. He recalled Fandral, then, his words suddenly loud in Thor's ears, saying what he could not comprehend - _I do not believe that he would allow death so easily_.

Comprehension dawned on him at the same exact time his father was no longer his father at all, and the familiar pale, smooth brow, dark hair, bright eyes - and a wicked smile - engulfed his vision. Thor stumbled back at the same time he felt an agonizing pain in his chest; Loki had come upon him, fist to chest, with such force and dexterity Thor could not believe it was even real.

And then Loki's fist was suddenly buried in Thor's chest, and a cracking, unbearable noise echoed about the hall. Thor was screaming - momentarily taken aback at the sound that had actually come from his throat - and all he could see was white teeth and sweat beading on Loki's face.

"I have your heart," Loki whispered then, the words forming a strange cacophony in Thor's mind. His hands flailed miserably against Loki's arms, but then a new noise had come from where Loki's hands had met his chest.

The pain had blinded him, then. A wet, wild sound coupled with the scent of iron filled his senses. _Blood_ , Thor knew, but it was all too real, too painful, for him to really grasp what was happening to him. Words of reconciliation died in his throat as he watched with terror as Loki ripped something from within him, actually _tore_ something out of him. His hands were then raised, and only a faint moment of stillness followed.

Loki held a very red, glistening thing in his hands; Thor knew that this was what he meant. _His heart_. It was still beating, and it was the last thing he saw before everything went black.

()()()

The next noise Thor heard was an incessant knocking. He laid there for a time, unable to move, the gaping hole in his chest fresh and tender. He marveled for a moment that he had survived such an attack; he shuddered despite the warmth he was enveloped in at the memory of Loki's eyes, boring into his with such inconceivable hatred.

"Thor," he heard, distantly. He made an incoherent noise in his throat, willing whoever it was to go away. He wished to die in peace.

And then: hands on his shoulder, jarring him, shaking him. The voice was louder this time, and he heard his name once more.

"Thor, wake up buddy. It's time to get up."

The voice was familiar, and it was enough to bring him over the edge that he was teetering on. His eyes snapped open, and Tony's face swam momentarily before settling into clarity. Thor gasped for breath, hand flying to his chest.

It was whole; his heart was firmly beating there, where it belonged.

A dream then, he realized. Yet it had felt so _real_. Thor relaxed minutely, allowing himself to exhale slowly. He looked at Tony again, who was eying him warily, as if worried for his state of mind.

"I apologize, Tony. I had a nightmare, that's all."

Tony nodded slightly, stepping back a bit from the bed. Thor raised himself up and went to retrieve a shirt, slipping it on, struggling to release himself from his dream's hold.

"I didn't wake you up for nothing, you know. I came to tell you that Loki and Jane landed on Earth last night, around 2 AM."

Thor whipped around so fast that Tony jumped.

"Loki _and_ Jane both? You're certain? Where are they now? Why was I not informed sooner?"

"Woah, calm down," Tony said, hands up in the universal sign of _back off_. "I didn't inform you because I didn't know until about ten minutes ago. Loki has been taken into custody. Jane is on her way here, right now."

"Here? Now?" Thor repeated dumbly, reaching now for Mjolnir. His entire being sprang into warrior mode; he would fly to where Jane was in an instant if only he knew where that was.

"Yes," Tony replied. "She needs to be debriefed first, but I made Fury swear you'd be allowed to see her as soon as possible."

"I thank you, Tony," Thor said after a brief hesitation. "You have done much for us." For a moment, he struggled with what he wanted to say next. SHIELD had taken Loki, somewhere. "Do you know where they have taken my brother?" he finally asked, forcing him to refer to Loki as his _brother_ , to finalize his separation from his dream.

"I don't," Tony said then, running a hand through his hair. "Fury wouldn't tell me exactly where, but I believe it's somewhere in the city. Their most sophisticated facilities are here, I've discovered. But…Thor, I don't think you'll be able to visit him. He isn't exactly your run of the mill criminal, and he isn't in county jail. Fury made it fairly clear that they were not letting him out of their sight."

Thor bristled at that. While he knew Tony held no love for Loki, it was insulting to presume that SHIELD would keep him from his own brother. His grip tightened on Mjolnir, and he made for the door, opening it with intention to walk out, but stopping to say one last thing to Tony before he left in search of Jane.

"Nick Fury does not understand what he deals with. I _will_ see Loki. But first, I would see Jane."

"Is that where you're going right now?" Tony asked him.

"Of course," he replied, and before he had time to do anything else, Tony spoke again.

"Jarvis…care to tell me where Nick Fury is?"

A moment of silence, and then the now-familiar voice said, "He is in Meeting Room C, sir. Shall I reach him for you?"

"Yes," Thor said before Tony could. "Tell him I am coming to have words."

He inclined his head to Tony at that, a silent _thank you_ , and headed toward the elevators.

()()()

Thor halted before the dark wooden door of Meeting Room C, his hand hovering over the doorknob. He was momentarily surprised that there was nobody guarding the door.

His heart lurched in his chest; Jane was just beyond this wall. He feared what he would see when he finally stepped through. If Loki had harmed her…

With that thought, he tried to open the door, not at all shocked to find that it was locked. He inwardly apologized to Tony before putting his shoulder against the door and pushed. There was a loud, deafening sound as the door broke through its latch.

With the door now open, he stepped in, looking about him. Nick Fury had turned, annoyance apparent on his face, but once he saw Thor there, his expression softened minimally. Thor was not interested in Fury's sudden sense of conscience, though, and he looked beyond him, to the woman sitting at the oak table, hands folded delicately in front of her.

Jane's face flicked with a myriad of emotions that Thor could readily see. The obvious was exhaustion, and then joy. And then he saw, quickly before it disappeared, a strange look of sadness, congruent in the simple fact that he couldn't ever remember seeing it on her before. It happened so quickly he might not have caught it if he was not so desperate to see how she fared.

She stood then, and Thor's heart sank at the obvious weight that she had lost in Loki's captivity. His hand gripped Mjolnir reflexively and he began to rush toward her. He set his hammer down at his feet, holding out his arms, and she sank into them easily, her arms wrapping swiftly around him, her face turning to rest into his chest.

The way he felt, having her safe in his arms at last, was inexplicable.

"Jane," he said, softly, looking down at the top of her head. "Jane."

"Hi," was all she said.

There was the sound of someone clearing their throat; Thor did not let go of Jane but instead turned slightly to see Fury staring at the both of him with his eyebrow raised, arms crossed, as if waiting for them to realize that they had been disobedient and he was losing his patience for it. Thor grit his teeth at that, looking away from Fury, not prepared to let her go just yet.

"Are you well?" he asked her then, running his hand down her hair and up again, as if to say, _I'm here now_.

"I…I'm alright," she said, beginning to loosen her grip and pull away. She brought her hands to her face, rubbing tears from under her eyes, sweeping her hair back behind her shoulders. She smiled weakly, then looked away, toward Fury.

"If you two are done now, I'd like to finish this debriefing," his voice chided them, and Thor fully turned to face him.

"Have you no heart?" he asked harshly. "Jane has just experienced a terrible ordeal."

Fury made a loud _tsk_ sound with his tongue. "I don't often take the time to ask nicely, but I will: Please leave. Dr. Foster and I have a lot to cover and you're only holding us up. You'll have all the time in the world with her after this is finished."

For the second time that day, Thor bristled. Fury's words were condescending; he was speaking to him as if he were a child. But he was _not_ a child. And Jane had just spent the better part of a month in captivity and it just wasn't _fair_.

"Thor, it's okay, really," Jane said then. Thor let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding and he looked at her, sharply, prepared to argue. Her expression stopped him, though, and he lifted a hand to squeeze her shoulder lightly.

"If you insist that you are fine, then I will take my leave," he said. "I'll be upstairs, should you wish to find me when you are finished."

Jane nodded and smiled tightly; it didn't meet her eyes. Thor nodded to Fury as he passed him, leaving the two of them alone with a heavy heart.

()()()

"I would understand if you don't wish to speak of it."

Thor had finally broken the silence, his voice as soft as he could possibly make it, yet it still sounded overloud, somehow. They were in Tony's great room, the same one with the giant hole, the very one that Loki's body had made. Jane had eyed it when they walked in, a hint of amusement in her eyes.

Now, Jane's eyes had turned away from Thor; she was seeing beyond the horizon outside, far beyond the realm they stood on.

"I don't know what I should say about it," she said after a time. "He was…Loki. He hurt me, at the beginning." Thor saw her fists clench, and although his first instinct was to grab and sooth her, he knew that this was not the response she was seeking. "And it was terrible. He…he hit me. He grabbed my arm so hard it ripped out of the socket. We both heard it, and it was…surreal. Like it was happening…to someone else." Her voice had begun to waver, and Thor could not stop himself; he reached a hand out to rest on her arm, gingerly, as if afraid his own touch would hurt her too.

Anger surged through his veins at her words, though. He had to truly steady himself to not fly into a blinding rage as he knew he could easily do.

"Jane," he said, reaching now to grip her chin lightly, turning her face toward him, meeting her eyes. His mouth worked as he made real effort to keep his anger at bay - it was almost all he could do. "I swear to you that Loki will pay for what he's done. What he has done to you is unforgivable…" his voice trailed off as he felt true pain at Loki's actions. Actions that were not made to hurt Jane…not really. He had only ever wanted to hurt Thor.

But Jane was shaking her head slowly, and Thor's grip dropped.

"Don't hurt him. Please."

He heard her words, but they almost didn't make sense in his head. Did she not want to see Loki suffer for the torment he put her through?

She must have seen the apparent confusion in his face. "I know it seems crazy. I know." Her voice had a sad quality to it, and it gave Thor pause.

"Are you not…angry with Loki for everything he's done?"

Jane's eyebrows knit, her mouth pursed. She turned and walked away from him, toward Tony's bar, her hands resting on it. She was quiet for a long time, and Thor followed her, hovering close but not close enough to touch. His chest felt tight, like he was dreading something, but he was not certain of what. Jane's words were certainly confusing and contrary to what he figured she would say, but he could not presume to know exactly everything that transpired between them. That thought gave him more pause.

"I was angry with him. Very. I hated him, at first," Jane said. She took a deep breath, not facing Thor, her voice carrying away from him, but still with enough inflection he could easily understand her. "It consumed me. I mean, he had thrown me into a guest suite, locked me up, and banished you to Earth! I was beside myself. I didn't know what to do. I searched the entire room for anything I could to escape, but nothing worked. I tried unscrewing the door with a blunt letter opener I found, but the screws were so tight there was nothing I could do to budge them. I ripped my nails in the effort. I thought about climbing out of the window and trying to climb my way down, but there were absolutely no ledges, no cracks, nothing but solid gold all the way down for me to get a grip on. I thought about taking one of the bed posts and bashing it into Loki's skull, but I knew it would be no use. I'm just a human woman. He would have killed me.

"But even when I say that, I know that's not quite right. I knew he regretted almost instantly when he…hurt me. He used this stone thing on my shoulder to heal it right after he broke it, even when I told him not to. I told him I pitied him and he slapped me…and it hurt, but I knew somehow that he did not hit me as hard as he could." Jane laughed suddenly, throwing her head back, her shoulders bouncing with the movement. "Christ! I must sound insane. I sound like I'm _defending_ a megalomaniac."

Thor's voice was charred, unable to work. He stood silently, waiting for her to continue, uncertain if he wanted her to.

"And then…something changed," she said, her voice going so soft that Thor had to take a step toward her to hear her. "He…"

"What?" he asked, his voice springing into action. His mind began to supply the worst of images, and he needed to know the truth.

Jane's hands, which were splayed across the bar, had rolled into fists, her knuckles white against the dark surface. Her shoulders clenched and her head turned, and Thor couldn't begin to understand what he saw playing across her face.

In an eye blink, her entire stance changed. She relaxed, her hands falling to her sides. She smiled lightly, turning toward him.

"He told me he was sorry. He told me the only reason he took me was because he panicked, and he never laid another hand on me again. To be honest, I didn't even see him that much."

Thor's own brow knit this time; Jane's words were comforting after everything that had come before, yet he was still confused. The picture she had painted did not seem complete in his mind.

"So my brother took you prisoner, physically harmed you, and then…seemingly forgot about you? Is that what you are saying to me, Jane?"

She gave a little shrug. "Basically, yeah. It was boring, but there were a lot of books. And a massive bathtub."

Thor was completely at a loss for words at this; and a nagging feeling in his mind told him that Jane was not being truthful. But he did not see how confronting her of this right now would be of use.

"Anyway…I really appreciate you coming to save me from that debriefing. Nick is such a hard ass. He sped it way up once you had come down."

"I am glad I could have been of service," he replied, a small smile spreading across his face.

She smiled back, although it didn't quite meet her eyes. "I'm really beat though," she said then, yawning. "Interstellar worm-hole travel will do that to a girl, I guess. I need to sleep."

"Yes, of course," Thor said, pulling her close to him, although his heart felt heavy at the motion. His acknowledgment that Jane was lying also brought newfound doubt to their relationship; but for now he would put it aside. He lowered his head, intending to kiss her for the first time since they had reunited.

Her lips hesitantly met his; the kiss held no real urgency despite his own attempts. He released her, smiling lightly, yet inside feeling nothing but dread.

"Sleep well, dear Jane."

It was time to find Loki.

* * *

_Hope you enjoyed; as always please let me know your thoughts! I appreciate all the kudos and bookmarks as well!_


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

"All things are subject to interpretation. Whichever interpretation prevails at a given time is a function of power and not truth." – Friedrich Nietzsche

* * *

_**Chapter Twenty-One** _

* * *

The days passed slowly for Loki; they felt like never-ending nightmares with a strange, potent mixture of ennui and hysteria.

SHIELD had shuffled him eventually into a regrettably small room with only a cot, a chair bolted to the floor, and a toilet. Once a day several uniformed men escorted him to a room with a shower, where he stood under the flow of the lukewarm water, barely containing his rage.

He had never envisioned an imprisonment such as this. Nobody spoke to him. They fed him twice a day, bringing in brown, sealed bags with the letters _MRE_ on them, their bold and black austerity only a preface to their unpalatable contents within. Soon he gave up consuming them altogether, leaving them pitched against the heavy steel door that separated him from the world beyond. Eventually they stopped bringing him more.

He still had his magic, though, and his patience was growing thin.

Most days he lay on the cot, eyes fixed to the gray tiles above him. He could not help but feel as if this punishment was sorely anticlimactic. He had expected grueling interrogations; torture, even. His mind danced sporadically at the idea of _true_ torture - he rather thought that whatever SHIELD could have in store for him would never amount to what he had already endured in his lifetime.

Visions of the snake, fangs glinting indecently, its yellow and green skin shining in the dull sunset, flickered more than once through his memories. His body almost felt its venom again and shuddered in apprehension, before he blinked the thought away. Loki held his hands above him, tracing the lines of his fingers briefly before clenching them into fists. He felt the raw spark of magic inside the marrow of his very bones, and he wished for nothing more than something to unleash it on.

Without much thought at all, he directed it toward one of the several brown bags across the room. A muted _pop_ sound fluttered through the small room, echoing off the metallic floor and ceiling. The packaged, unnatural food exploded, sending bits flying in every which way, some of it hitting Loki himself, causing him to jerk in annoyance.

His chest tightened as he sat up, surveying what he had done. He raised a hand to his face, wiping it roughly, regarding the brown, filmy liquid now on his fingers with distaste. With a brief thought and gesture, the mess was gone, stored into the secret place he hid most things. He would take care of it another day.

Unbidden, thoughts of Jane filled his head like many buzzing flies. Her laughter, her grace, her _worry_ wavered across his mind and he grit his teeth in frustration. He had promised himself he would no longer think of her. It had been nearly two weeks, maybe three, since he had arrived to this place. Jane was not coming, and he could expect to never see her again.

But his logic battled incessantly with the _other_ side of him; the side that recalled the feel of her arms around him, the sound of her voice carrying through the clearing on Álfheim. His heart ached strangely and terribly at the vast loneliness he was now faced with; a new kind that he had never known on Asgard, or even as he fell through the abyss. The world felt strange and new to him now, and he stood up suddenly, wishing strongly to rip Jane out of his mind, out of his very being, if he could. He remembered the dinner they had shared, the look of joy on her face as they discussed Svartalfheim and space wine and books. He had forgotten himself, that night.

And now, here, he had never been more aware of himself. He began to pace, his feet clawing their way around and around the small room, and he worked himself up into a vexatious frenzy. At least on Asgard as prisoner he had access to some comforts; here he was little more than a caged animal. And not for the first time since arriving to this dreadful place did he wonder how long it was until the _true_ imprisonment began.

He stopped himself abruptly, alarmed at his own actions. He had allowed them to see his unease, to see his uncontrolled irritations. He knew without a doubt that this room was bugged, that he was most likely being monitored at all times. And he had quite possibly handed them exactly what they sought. He balled his hands into fists at his sides again, and forced himself back to the cot, laying down once more.

He lay like that for quite awhile, until the edges of sleep overwhelmed him, claiming him as its own.

()()()

Two days later, Loki found himself awoken by the increasingly familiar hunger pangs. He sat up, clutching his stomach, willing his own necessities to leave him alone for just this once. He eyed the collection of brown bags across the room, pushed up against the wall by the door from the daily treks to the shower room. Loki looked up toward the ceiling, his eyes glazed slightly, his mind shuffling through his options. As disgusting as the brown bags were, they provided sustenance, and that was what he needed.

As he made his way toward the pile, he reflected briefly that this was what Odin must have felt like, alone in the dark, cold on the floor in the dungeons. Loki shuddered momentarily, refusing to compare this to that. _This_ was Loki's own choice; Odin deserved what had befallen him.

_But you deserve this, too,_ that nasty voice in the back of his mind whispered. He ignored it, pulling one of the bags toward him at random, reading that what was held within should be roast beef and vegetables. He opened it up, laying the smaller bags before him, and then opening the main pouch open, not bothering to fiddle with the heating contraption that came with these bags. With only a thought, the food was warm on its own.

Using the plastic spoon provided, he began to eat, doing what he could to ignore the obvious chemicals laced within the meal. He would never understand why the mortals insisted on putting so many poisons in their food, as if an entire culture collectively decided they would do what they could to shorten their already short lifespans. He chewed mechanically, doing his best to ignore the flavor of this meal.

It was there that they found him, the guards that had opened his door too prematurely for it to be his daily shower time. They huddled around him, weapons held, their intent obvious. Loki dropped his meal, standing to face them.

"To what do I owe this pleasure?" he asked, his voice almost cracking from disuse. A ghost of a smile flickered about his face. He knew they would not answer. Instead, one of the men stepped forward, and bound Loki's hands behind his back.

They led him out of his cell, down the dimly lit hall, toward the elevator. Loki's mind began to race, wondering if it was finally time for his real punishment to begin. He imagined that first they would interrogate him, to shorten their efforts; once the interrogation proved fruitless they would begin their torture. He wondered if he would see Thor this day.

Instead of the elevator taking him further down, as he expected, they went up. Once it stopped and the doors slid open, the hall beyond was brightly lit and even had windows. They ushered him along, and he stole glances toward the windows, taking in the view of the city. New York. Some buildings still damaged, from his time here before.

It was no concern of his that the mortals prolonged repairing their structures. He felt a strange rush of victory at the sight. That so many small actions had led to this. A future he had shaped, on this small, dirty realm. The mortals thought to control him now, their grip on his arms tight and focused as they led him along. But he was so much more than what they saw.

At the end of the hall, they stopped in front of a door, one of the men opening it, leading Loki inside. It was another room with similar lighting and finishing as his cell; the only furniture was a metal table and chairs. They sat him down in one, leaving his hands bound behind him, and all but two of the guards left. The remaining men stood next to Loki, one on each side, their hands gripping their weapons like it was all they knew to do.

Loki's smirk came naturally as he regarded the stretch of black glass before him. He knew that beyond someone sat, watching him, calculating what he could be thinking. He flexed his fists, knowing without a doubt that he could easily break the bonds. He felt his own innate magic flowing throughout him, and he almost willed it to come, but he heard the door open once again, and turned his head lazily to see who it was.

Nick Fury strode in, carrying a briefcase and several stacks of folders and papers. There was a strange, stark silence as Loki regarded him. He was much the same as he remembered him being, in his militaristic black leather and eyepatch. He swallowed, working his face not to reveal too much of his distaste yet. That Nick Fury always reminded him slightly of Odin made no difference now.

Fury eyed him, no real emotion visible on his face. His lips, painted into a permanent frown, parted after a time and he dropped the stack in his hands onto the table.

"Loki. Of Asgard. We meet again."

His voice echoed strangely in the metal room, and Loki relaxed his shoulders minutely.

"So it would seem."

Fury raised an eyebrow at that, and grabbed one of the folders and opened it up, the silence stretching into several long moments.

"My men tell me that you strolled into Puente Antiguo with Dr. Foster as if you were just dropping by for a visit," he said at long last. His words were biting, his expression still unreadable. "They also tell me that Dr. Foster was under the impression you had come here with the intention of surrendering yourself to us."

Fury crossed his arms then, abandoning the pursuit of his papers. The leather of his coat crinkled, and Loki let himself smile slightly, his eyes flicking to the black glass beyond Fury.

"Is my dear brother yonder, I wonder?" he asked aloud, his voice low.

Fury turned his head briefly, then back to face Loki. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"It would be your own stupidity if he's not. You should know by now that he is the only thing that could possibly stop me." Loki's veiled threats caused the men beside him to shuffle slightly; Fury's eyes darted to them and they ceased immediately.

"We both know that that's not true," he said then, his own smile breaking free as he inclined his head slightly. "I saw the aftermath of what Banner did to you."

At the mention of the green monster, Loki's face contorted slightly, just enough for Fury to notice.

"Now that we have that out of the way, let's get down to business. Why are you here?"

A heartbeat passed before Loki replied, "I think Dr. Foster already told you."

If his words surprised Fury, he didn't show it. He uncrossed his arms, dropping his hands to touch the pages on the table again. He picked up one of the papers, holding it up to his face.

"Dr Foster seems to believe that you aren't quite the monster you paint yourself to be."

Another heartbeat, maybe two, passed. Loki struggled to hold Fury's gaze; his mouth parted, his brow creasing in confusion.

"Now, would you care to explain why she would say such a thing?"

Fury's face was cool calculation. Loki knew that expression well; he often wore it himself. He knew not what the purpose of this interview was, but he knew that if he did not tread carefully it could have disastrous consequences. He wondered fleetingly if Jane was beyond the glass, watching him, invisible. His brain mildly panicked at the thought.

"I could not begin to understand the thought process of a mortal," Loki said slowly, devoid of emotion. He could sense the danger, though, lurking in the room. Fury put the paper down, leaning forward on the table.

"I know what happened up there," he said then, quietly. Like a secret he wished to share only between the two of them.

"And what is that?"

"Is it not obvious? You - the god of mischief, or whatever - fell in love with her. A _mortal_."

Loki's face split into a malicious grin. He sat up in his seat, his guards once more tittering next to him. He felt the magic again, coursing through him, that thing that always longed for release, that thing that made him whole. He also leaned forward, his eyes never leaving Fury's.

"You're a fool."

Fury laughed then, an insincere sound that grated Loki's ears. He sat back in his chair, waiting for him to finish, to deliver the next move.

"If I'm a fool, then you are even less than that. You see, there is no situation in which you win here. I have everything you want. I have the recording from your arrest. I have the words that came straight out of Dr. Foster's mouth. And now I have you here, and you are not leaving until you give me what _I_ want."

Loki's mind was buzzing with confusion and irritation; he almost unleashed his magic but Fury's words distracted him.

"What is it that you want?" he asked despite himself, curious to hear, suddenly understanding why he was in this room in this fashion. Fury meant to soften him, to gain something from him.

"I want your magic."

There was a very pregnant silence following Fury's declaration. He stood straight and still, his eyes boring into Loki's.

And then, Loki laughed, loudly and wildly.

"You would dare to presume you could _have_ my magic? It is not something I have the power to even _give_. And even if it were, I would never allow it to become befouled by your ignorance and _mortality_." He spat the last word as if it were a bitter, tangible thing in his mouth, and his vision blurred with rage.

"You misunderstand me," Fury's voice split through the haze of anger. "I require your assistance, your _magical_ assistance. We are trying to build an Einstein-Rosen Bridge…a Bifrost…and we are failing."

Loki's eyes widened. He had known that SHIELD was attempting to do this, but assumed that with his capture had given up. He narrowed his eyes, regarding Fury warily.

"And what would you suggest to do with this Bifrost?"

Fury was quiet for a moment, his eyes searching Loki's, his mouth set into a resolute grimace.

"You, Thor, Malekith. We are not alone, living our lives on this planet blindly unaware, anymore. We need the power to defend ourselves; the technology to send forces elsewhere. Another intergalactic war would cripple us."

Loki envisioned it momentarily. The bottom of the Yggdrasil, the very roots of the world's tree, sending forces to invade Álfheim, Vanaheim, Asgard. He knew the history of this realm was a bloodied one; its peoples constantly grappling over one plot of land or another, battling over which version of a book held all the answers to their struggles. The very thing he sought to control, to end, with his reign.

"No."

Fury did not miss a beat; Loki rather thought he was most likely anticipating his answer.

"If you assist us, I will allow you to see Dr. Foster again. She has been asking for you. And when we're finished with it, you can go home."

Loki wanted to laugh, to shatter the glass beyond Fury, to destroy the metal, to show him that _he_ was not the one imprisoned here. That he could leave whenever he wished. That he was only here because he allowed it.

The urge to tell Fury that he had no home did not escape him, either.

But the thought of Jane stopped him from falling completely over the edge, the promise of hearing her voice once more wickedly tempting. He studied Fury, weighing his options. If he escaped this facility, he would likely never see Jane again without great risk to himself.

Finally, Loki nodded, a slight movement of his head, but Fury saw it.

"I will do as you ask, under one condition," he said softly.

"Which is?"

"I wish to see Jane as soon as possible. Before I begin assisting you."

Fury pretended to mull it over, his hands putting the papers and folders back together, stacking them neatly.

"I think that could be arranged," he said finally, without even a hint of a smile crossing his features, his victory clearly contained and not even relished.

Loki realized that this entire time he did not understand Fury at all. He was not dealing with a hot-headed military leader, yet something much more dangerous and virulent. He dropped Fury's gaze, and as he left the room, closing the door softly behind him, Loki knew without a doubt that he would not be helping Fury with his project at all. He would never in any version of himself give that sort of power to someone that so obviously desired it to reign terror across the Nine.

After Loki met with Jane, one last time, he would leave this place and never return. He could find a portal on this realm, he knew there were some. He could go into hiding, he could disappear for a hundred years or so, until this was all forgotten.

His earlier sense of guilt and desperation had vanished. Loki knew now that coming here was folly; he should have never thought for even a moment that SHIELD would have held some twisted sense of retribution.

The guards gestured for Loki to stand, and he did. They led him out into the hall again, the rest of the pack joining them and leading him back to his cell.

Loki let them, for now. He would bide his time until Fury delivered on his promise to bring Jane to him.

He could wait that long.

()()()

And Loki did not have long to wait. The very next day, the door of his cell opened, and he looked from his spot on his cot. The armored men gestured for him to stand, and they bound his hands once more.

He wondered savagely if the mortals truly thought that these ineffectual means of restraining him actually worked. If it wouldn't have been so counter productive, he would have broken his bonds right there, to show them how pitiful their attempts truly were. But yet he allowed them to lead him on, his heart dancing strangely in his chest.

They led him toward the elevator again, going up once more, but not as far as last time. He knew when the doors opened that they were still underground as there were no windows lining the hall.

Walking along almost the entire length of it, his apprehension grew stronger. His own self-doubts began to flicker endlessly through his mind. Jane had been asking for him; she had wanted to see him. But what if it was to tell him that she, now in the arms of Thor, had realized her own stupidity? That she had realized after all that Loki was nothing more than the monster she had originally thought? He could easily see her look of disgust, sliding so effortlessly in place where her look of joy had once been.

Where her look of pain and anguish had been, too.

The men stopped at the door, the door that held Jane beyond it. Loki berated himself, wondering where this childish lack of confidence came from. If she was here to say those things to him…then so be it.

There was a chance that she was here to say something else, entirely.

The door opened, and Loki went inside, expecting to see Jane's small form, her brown hair, her knowing eyes. Instead he saw something else, _someone_ else, a familiar figure cut through his vision, through his chest.

He was looking at the one person he had most feared to see, and the thunderous look consuming Thor's features was very striking indeed.

* * *

_So...an honest to goodness cliffhanger. Let me hear your thoughts. What is going to happen? Do you think it will be positive, negative, or a mixture of both? Thanks for reading, reviewing, and following, once again! :)_


End file.
